It all started Monday night. I found out that my uncle died. I had not seen him in quite some time. He had been in prison. He was my only uncle, or at least the only one I grew up knowing. He was the one who told me stories, and grew gardens rivaled anything in a magazine. I was married in his garden, near the bridge and just down the hill from the pergola, with a sound of a bagpipe wafting in the autumn breeze. When his sister (my aunt) was murdered, it was he who drove with me back and forth to the courthouse several counties away.
I never got to say goodbye. Not to either of them. One moment they were here and, a moment passed and it was suddenly too late. We always think there is time enough....
Then on Wednesday, my dad went into the hospital for tests and had some complications. A series of telephone calls, and missed information, and driving around trying to find the right hospital. He was admitted, and the immediate threat was taken care of...for now.
Thursday brought with it a dog attack on our cat (luckily, it seems it only used one of his nine lives, so all is well).
Friday was the funeral. It was surreal and dismal and so totally not-a-proper funeral that I have decided that it was NOT actually his "real" funeral. No, that will happen this spring when I can plant some rosemary (for remembrance) and gather my children around the grave to tell them stories of the great-uncle whom they will never remember but through the images I weave for them. And weave I shall.
I arrived home Friday so very tired, and drained, and emotionally spent. But then there was another call. Another death. This time it was another aunt...stolen away by illness. She was gone nearly as soon as I had heard she was ill. Another wordless goodbye.
So, amidst the plague of sorrows that had cloaked my house, I did not notice something else passing...time, milestones, and silent markers along this journey. Hour blurred into hour and day into day. Before I noticed, the whole week was gone and I was left too weary to care.
After many cups of tea, and many spontaneous hugs from children who can't quite understand why mommy is weepy, the moments stop bleeding together and start to resemble something familiar. The fog begins to lift.
Despite my grief, still the world continued.
A year has passed since I started this blog. Some goals have been met, and some are just now taking form.
A year has passed...but the journey continues.