prayers and sincerest best wishes for those that care for their older loved ones. The challenges, the heart ache, the fear and frustrations are profound. The reality of aging and decline in our loved ones coupled with no rest for the weary takes an enormous toll. Just trust you are loved and respected from afar and before you.
“No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear.” C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed
The older I get, the swirl of life, birth, pain, illness, death, new life…and and on…challenges one. One can try to sort out all the meanings, the positives and negatives. One can find spiritual solace or take a more pragmatic view. In the end, it is all flying by, for real, and little quaint truisms and positive self talk bounces off the mental walls. Celebrating or grieving in the moment, day after day, gets one by. Realities loom…the beautiful and the profound. No, I’m not drunk…just thinking, feeling……
One of my favorite cemeteries to visit…always different given infrequent maintenance. Cemeteries provoke many thoughts in me as I review the markers.
fbo] l;mhg bc m
“Breathing seemed harder in the cemetery, and selfish, somehow…” Sheri Webber
Good grief amongst us…
“No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear. I am not afraid, but the sensation is like being afraid. The same fluttering in the stomach, the same restlessness, the yawning. I keep on swallowing. At other times it feels like being mildly drunk, or concussed. There is a sort of invisible blanket between the world and me. I find it hard to take in what anyone says. Or perhaps, hard to want to take it in. It is so uninteresting. Yet I want the others to be about me. I dread the moments when the house is empty. If only they would talk to one another and not to me.” ―
Strength, patience, enduring support for all the future brings…
‘…amid weeping there is joy and under the shadow of death light that endures…’ J.R.R. Tolkein, The Silmarillion
“So it’s true, when all is said and done, grief is the price we pay for love.” E.A. Bucchianeri
‘The past is strapped to our backs. We do not have to see it; we can always feel it.’ Mignon McLaughlin, The Neurotic’s Notebook, 1960
