The kids are downstairs blowing off steam in my vain hope we might have some reverence for Sunday. I can distantly hear Dora droning about picking the middle path, and, whining aside, I couldn’t agree more.
David is down in California, beginning the healing process that must follow losing someone you love. The funeral is over, many people have already scattered back to their lives, and now we pick up the pieces and carry on. Right? What other choice is there?
The kids have asked mercifully few questions, and I suspect they are simply finding dad’s absence typical of any business trip. I’m OK with that- and am thankful for the lack of hard questions. My well of answers is fantastically low at the moment.
Dimly, I am aware of other things going on in the world, and of painful happenings in others lives. My vision has been so focused and so myopic on my own catastrophes, it’s startling to look up and note where the world has moved on, or in some places, stopped. I’m thinking of NieNie, and C Jane, of course. It makes my own pain seem small. Add my prayers to the pile…
So, life carries on. Or it doesn’t, sometimes, does it? I don’t know how anyone manages without faith. I can’t grasp how senseless life and loss would be without a faith in something greater than the pain and sorrow of the physical world.