Mother told me goodbye the morning of December 5th, 2024. She died seven months and 15 days later. I suspect her deep faith, love of family and delight in the everyday experiences of life kept her with us longer than either of us would have predicted that chilly December morning.
So much I learned from her—a list infinite in wisdom shaped by her ninety-eight years of life. However, the one thing in which she could offer no insight was grief. After losing her husband and dog within six weeks of each other, she wrote the following poem.
Healing
They tell me
the hole in my heart
will heal.
Keep busy, they say.
Read a book.
Write a poem.
Go shopping.
Visit a friend.
These things
done many times over
do not reach my heart.
The double loss
lies too deep.
I was with her when she lost my dad and Lady. And again, when she learned her twin, John Dennis, had passed. And again, when she lost her son, John Raymond. Grief is an internal journey. There is no shortcut to peace. There is just the placing of one step in front of the other. For however long it takes.
My steps are labored these days. In addition to losing Mother in July, I lost a dear sailing friend, Chuck Watts, in September, and then my fun and loving cousin, Mary Ann Laflin, in November. I am turning to all that nourishes me to sail through this fog, but often it feels as if there is no air to propel me forward.
And then I remember Mother . . . faith, family, delight in the everyday joys of life.
I know I will find safe harbor.
Thank you for joining me on this journey. I suspect it is one we share. May you find nourishment this Thanksgiving week.
Safe harbor in St. Ignace
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