Sunday, April 10, 2011
Morning is the advent of a pure and ill-wrought terror.
The same words from everyone: it will pass.
A minute went by.
I recall something the father of my first (and late) husband said to my chosen brother Tom as we were walking down the steps of the funeral home after the visitation (oh sweet jesus this was only a little more than eight years ago):
"I just got through another minute."
There went one more.
From Mary Oliver:
A small boat flounders in the deep waves, and what's coming next
is coming with its own heave and grace.
I welcome grace, but for this moment, and, I expect, many still to come, there is only the heave.
Your comments are sustaining me. I don't have the energy to respond individually yet but know that I've read them time and again for the light they shine.