when your friend tells you the truth

 

  It will get pretty ordinary here but bear with me. I have had the flu/cold/covid, who knows, since 12-26. Slight fever, terrible nose products, slight sore throat and last night, I coughed my left lung into my palm. Not really.

 A friend advised that I get some Mucinex to get the gunk out of my lungs. I knew that needed to be done. Then I thought, easy for you to say, healthy friend. I have been a princess taken care of for 57 years .I haven't left the house since Monday, I have little gas in my car,  my hair is dirty. BWAAAAAA. I CAN'T do it!!! I thought of friends, tried several delivery options, no go. BWAAAAA. I knew this friend was watching me on line so I found some big girl pants and they actually sold it to me out of the pharmacy drive up thanks to the clerk, Jessica, who made it happen. I told her I loved her on the phone. Do you  think she will appear in my kindness journal?

But here is the miracle, why write if not. As I was grumpily driving to CVS, my Friend took over my thinking. I can describe it no other way.

This is what I heard:

"At this time it appears you are weak and vulnerable but I don't want to think of yourself that way. You are My child . This is what I see:

...a youth wo grew up poor getting a Regents scholarship in a house filled with chaos. Determined to get a college degree.

--- a young lady graduating with a degree despite the chaos and a Father twice housed in a mental institution....

...despite growing up with alcoholic parents, and many relatives the same, through determination and My grace, you have never succumbed.

...who lost her fist child to miscarriage and endured the fear and sadness of that hospital trip.  

...a woman who at 70 years hiked 175 miles of the Camino in Spain.

...and after that started a writing group with no experience, just some ideas. That group has been a healing for many.

...a woman who has endured her greatest fear and not become bitter.

  I have left many out for brevity but share these. If you think I am bragging I am not doing a good enough job writing this story.(But did I tell you about the 11 and a half pound baby I had naturally?.)What I wrote has little to do with me and more with the Friend, the Lord, who has had my hand every step of the way.

As the words came flooding in I knew what was happening. Today was a test for me. I think I was given at least a year to live in fear and trembling as it is part of the process.(I am not the only one who breaks down in Kroger I am told.).But now it's time to remember who I am. I may fail, who knows, but what a profound gift to be hearing how I am seen by the One who loves us so.

"He is Kind, He is patient, slow to anger and rich in mercy."

I don't deserve this

   

Last June, John and I flew into the Albany, N.Y. airport for a visit to our beloved Catskills. A kindness happened as we deplaned and I heard the Spirit whisper :"why not keep track of those you see on this trip ?" That was the beginning. Now if I pick up my pen to journal, kindnesses jump in my lap like warm kittens and demand to be written about first. It's a habit.

 In a previous story I ranted about a person that did the wrong thing, for me at least. Here are some of those times when the exact right thing was done. Most know who they are.

...Two days after John passed, my family and I went to evening Mass. One dear lady crossed the church, knelt in the pew in front of me and said: "No words just I love you." We put our heads together and wept.

...the staff at our dentist office. They loved John. A lovely card, two calls from the receptionist. And when the office closed, they made sure we are Facebook friends so we can stay connected. The person who called went with the dentist to the new office and having her there when I have to go, heartens me.

...One of the friends in our writing group has left more than one creative package on my porch. She made a journal for my trip to Australia, a fruit cake and candle for Christmas. And for a year she has given me an open invitation. As I type this I realize it has taken me a whole year to accept. We have a date on Jan 11 for lunch and antiquing. What price for that friendship ? 

...John did the bills and although organized I had no idea the system. I needed folders and this angel dropped her life and got folders, labels and would take no payment. Just left them with me with a smile. She also took care of my plants when I went to Australia. She is appalled that I don't talk to them, she spoiled them all. They miss her. I throw her a kiss every Sunday at Mass and we smile. She has my back.

These are the ones like the kittens that insisted to be written today. There are so many more that I will write about. This is what the beatitude means that "they that mourn will be comforted." You will be comforted in ways you could never conceive because the hole is so deep and people, so kind.

And finally to John O'Donohue, the Irish poet and writer whose words I was given before John passed because there is no time and God knew that I would need to know this:

"We cannot see the dead, but because we cannot see them does not mean that they are not there...transfigured in an eternal form. In their new transfigured presence their compassion, understanding and love take on divine depth, enabling them to became secret angels, guiding and sheltering the unfolding of our destiny." 

I have lived to know the truth of this.

We will meet one day and I will thank John O in person where all things are perfect and the only language spoken is love.

the tough guy

  My hero was born into a large Irish Catholic family; he was the 7th child. His Mother was 40 when he arrived on Mother's Day and I think his parents may have been weary by then. I surmise that John tried very hard to find his place in that crowd and get some attention. He was the family clown . He was a good boy and I have a radio that was his as a young child; on it he scratched the words: "John is a fine boy". He wanted to be and he was.

Then came the teenage terrors and on a subway platform at 15 John turned his back on his true self to become a tough guy, his new persona. He searched for a long time for a good fit for who he was. Don't we all ? Church was out of the question for a tough guy.

Drifting into mid-life and unsure, an accident brought things to a head. Where am I going? What am I doing ? Choices. A Cursillo week-end, a jogging habit , focus on the family. A trip to Honduras with our youngest son after a devastating hurricane.

I have some words that he wrote in 2009. "I thought about the closeness to God (teenage and under) and the years of difficulty(20s) when moving away from God. The ins and outs, the turns, the coming closer and the moving away. Closer is better".

 In the years after, in the closer years, he led a group from our Church that took yearly mission trips to a Franciscan compound in Honduras. Doctors, nurses, dentists. And if ever it seemed like some praise might be coming his way, he was nowhere to be found. The leader role was a great fit.

 There is a plaque on the wall of a school in Ghana that he assisted in many ways. The last line reads : "He will be greatly missed."

And in all that serving he was a great father and role model to our four children.

John later found another niche assisting older people in our parish in a million ways. Playing chess, food shopping, doctors trips, just being with, finding new homes. One of the gentleman he helped eventually passed away and at the funeral his daughter was praising John for his selfless caring of her Dad. I found these words in my journal notes: 12-22-18" I told C. that John had given his heart to Christ." Three years later to the day, John left us. I just noticed that now as I type.

In 2006, as we were planning to run a retreat house in South Carolina, John wrote: "The Holy Spirit has been guiding my movements for a long time." Yes and the fine boy became a fine man.

 I wasn't going to go to Mass tonight, too cold, coming home in the dark. But on the way to church, this all came to me. I had no intention of writing something so personal but I know it was just another nudge. My John became God's. I know he is now giving all the praise to the One who turned his life around and made him exactly who He wanted him to be : His fine tough guy and mine.

Last Christmas

  Last year we celebrated Christmas early because a traveling son would be here . So the day of the 19th we gathered. If anyone noticed the strange things that were happening, no one said. It was only later that we compared notes. Did John really say that? 

 At one point he insisted that a picture be taken just of the six of us, no in laws, no children. It is a perfect picture with faces smiling that perhaps will never be so bright. After dinner when we were cleaning up, John said we will never be together for Christmas again. Some were shocked and asked if either of us had received a bad health report, most of us shrugged our shoulders, Dad being Dad. Then one of the grands was told that John would be her angel. Strange doings here.

 I was mid way through the Glorious mysteries of the rosary that night when my son came running in to tell me that Dad had collapsed. And so it began. In two days the love of my life, the blond haired, green eyed, gorgeous boy I met at 14, would be gone...

 And yet I am writing to assure you that he has not left us. There is not one of us that hasn't been touched in some way by John since then: in a dream, a knowing, a song, a synchronicity, in a vision, a nudge, a guidance. His form has changed, the means are different but he is here. With us. 

When I was going through John's memories folder I found the round medal above. I don't know how he received it, I had never seen it before. The word my pastor used when he called, the word that hangs around my neck now. It was left for me to find when I needed it most.

 

early Christmas gift..

 

                          

I have written before how present John has been to me in these hard days of 2022. How I have spent my time trying to find him in his letters, my journal notes and other friends memories. How I woke up one morning to the sound of his voice calling "Honey". None of these things did I look for or expect. In this blessed case I will not ask: Why me?" I will just accept with a full heart.

   When I returned from Australia my focus has been on Christmas, getting gifts and writing to the people who I have gotten cards from who don't know that John is gone. I thought I had put my journal searching behind me. Oh, you foolish griever. I even told a dear friend that I felt John had moved on and I might be too.

 The next day I was rummaging through some art supplies and saw a journal from 2003-4 that had notes from time spent wandering alone through the wetlands near here. Ah, some nature writing , no searching just enjoy the memories of those hours in Nature. 

 Before I go on let me tell you about Christmas 2018 when John and I found ourselves alone for the first time in 50 years, having celebrated the week before with the kids. John was not happy. The thought came that we should go to the river and sketch or write haiku. Picture John Wayne being asked to do this : "Well, little lady, that's the dumbest thing I ever heard." Happily John agreed and the day being perfect and sunny we went and sat on logs as the river flowed peacefully by. It turned out to be a lovely day together. John did a sketch that day and since last year I have looked for it in vain. Where is it? 

I sat quietly in my room and opened the journal of 2003 and as I paged along, in the back was a drawing dated 12-25-2018 with the initials JJG. You know I cried. A friend said that is John's gift to you for this Christmas and I know its true. I have it framed by my desk next to a pot of dried weeds that I picked on the way home that day. Thank you, dear man, for that and everything.

.

Watching and waiting

 

Last Christmas season my niece sent a large glass bowl with stones and a gnarled dry dead looking bulb , an amaryllis. I followed the directions and by Christmas, there were two tall stalks with bright red flowers. For awhile they looked like aliens coming up from nothing. Watching them shoot out of the stones gave me pleasure last year, the year of loss. 

Last year I was invited to give a day long Advent retreat for the staff at church. At the time, my mind was filled with looking for kindnesses and being open to those who have left us, what they might have to say from their place. Little did I know that as Advent ended, I would need to cling to both for dear life.

This year, I received another box with two bulbs and a message that said: Thinking of you at this difficult time." My precious niece will never know how this touched me. I have three bulbs now in my kitchen, the old one and the two new that are lighter colored the box says, all waiting for the warmth of the sun. 

Kindness.

The watching and waiting on the bulbs to bloom reminded me of this season. What do these four weeks of Advent hold for me ? Why have I always loved them? Why did the love of my life leave during this season ?

I do know this: companions always come. This year St Teresa of Avila elbowed her way into my life through an offering at St Brigid's Church  in Australia where I visited my family. It was based on Teresa's sayings and the music of U2. What ? I attended two sessions and it was good to be with like minded new friends.

So far what I have learned from Teresa that holds the most meaning was inscribed for me on a birthday card from John in 2016. "Let nothing disturb you, let nothing frighten you, everything passes away , God alone remains."  

And this: " If one perseveres, I trust then in the mercy of God, who never fails to repay anyone who has taken Him for a friend." 

My God, my friend, thank you.

the bat faced voice

 

The voice the young girl hears is grey and streaked with harshness. It tells her: "you will always be second best, Loser!, no one will ever love you..".

She listens and sometimes repeats these as a mantra, scarring herself each time. She is creating her world without knowing it.

In time she realizes that she no longer hears that bat faced voice. When did it stop? 

Was it on the day she asked the Lord to help her as a young woman ? Or the day she finally turned her will over to the One who created her? Halleluiah it is gone. 

Soon another Voice, a smiling yellow butterfly voice,  called her by name and said:" I love you." Later the Voice suggested that she look for things to be grateful for, be on the look out for kindnesses. How this all changed her.  

And then this: "Each day be Christ to one person."

We become what we think. Giving thought to anything is creation: giving deliberate thought to anything is deliberate creation. What are we creating?

What brought me back?

 

How did I find my way back to the labyrinth? 

When John and I ran a retreat house on Edisto Island ,S.C. for a year, the labyrinth was in our yard at Sea of Peace, House of Prayer. Groups would come from Charleston to walk and share their spiritual experiences.

When troubled by a seemingly impossible family situation, I would drift out and wander the path until I reached the center. Always, I received something. Even if it was just my bemusement at our yellow lab who would walk with me and stand with me in the center until I was ready to walk back out. One day, I heard this "Give her whatever she wants". Direct guidance on how to handle a division of property. I did as I was told and the matter was resolved. 

In the notes that John left behind in the memories folder he writes about reading the handbook for labyrinths, "Walking a Sacred Path" by Lauren Artress. Was this where the suggestion, the whisper of a leading came from?

For 8 years I had been hesitant to take our writing group on field trips for logistical reasons. How much chaos would it involve to go on a Buddhist Poetry walk at the Wetlands, 4 miles away? I shudder. But now I was compelled to check out the nearest labyrinth and organize a walk. I called the Calvin Center and went to check the path out. Beautiful setting on a lake, a blue heron in the distance. Benches for writing but, Oh Lordy, the path was a tangle of life threatening weeds. I walked a second time, didn't trip and crash and knew I had to make this work.

The Center people cleared the path, bathrooms were near, the day was bright blue and perfect. Each walker has their own story but as I stood at the entrance I thought: "I am lost."

Then I heard: "I am here". As I slowly walked : "like the solid ground under your feet you are held," Then in a bit : "through all the twists and turns of your journey to come, you are held, you are on solid ground. And you are not alone. " The solid ground is Christ.

The rock labyrinth above is on the island of Iona off the coast of Scotland. This is the beach where St. Columba arrived and brought the faith to the Scots. As John walked that day in 2010, he felt his uniqueness. Uniqueness and so much else.

I continue on this path of sorrow and mystery, grateful for all the ways that I have been shown I am loved and never alone.

It is Worth It

 

When I strolled into that small park in Paris I had no idea my life was about to change.

It was a hot humid June morning and I was drooping from buying macrons, museum hopping and make-up shopping. When I spotted that oasis I darted across the street and entered. Ah, a bench amid the flowers and bushes.

The noise of the city, horns blaring, wheels screeching, was muted but still surrounded me. Maybe a quick prayer will calm my jangled nerves. "Jesus", I said and in a second the noise was gone. I slowly opened my eyes and found myself in a small peaceful, quiet room circled with chairs. To my left sat Francis of Assisi, then Therese, Teresa of Calcutta, Joan of Arc and finally Bernadette. I knew them right away. All sitting in the quiet as I took a chair. 

In my mind, because speech seemed an intrusion, I asked them how they persevered in the faith in this distracting, crazy world we live in. In unison I heard them say in my spirit; "Prayer." I sensed them all smiling as if they knew I knew that would be the answer.

I asked how they prayed. I heard this: 

"Constantly. Look for Him in everything. He is there. Keep Him as your special friend tucked away in your heart. Give Him everything; worries, concerns, fears, joys. Give it to Him. Mostly express your thanks , your deep infinite gratitude,  for the grace you were given that day when you asked Him into your life. He smiles at this."

Then I asked if they had anything else to tell me and this simple reply brought tears : "It is worth it." 

That day, that wonderful June day, I left the park with a new road map: Look for Him in everything, give Him everything and thank Him for everything. 

 

I heard you're not doing well

  

There are no rules when you approach the mad people, those who grieve. Maybe there should be a handout of suggestions given out at the funeral. So this will serve as my helpful reminder when you encounter those who have been decimated.

Don't say, "I heard you are not doing well." Really? Compared to what ? Am I hanging in the shower? Have I gained 40 pounds, lost 40 pounds? Have I sobbed at every Mass and disturbed you? What is the standard of doing well that someone shared with you? No, I haven't moved on. Yes, I can hardly think of anything other than the person who is not here. That must get boring to hear. I am sorry but that is my way of holding on to what I have lost.

Yes, this Fall session of our writing group I couldn't finish a story but someone read it for me and I didn't feel judged. How gracious, how understanding.

If a grieving person does want to share something and their eyes are filling, don't walk away and say, "It's too fresh." You have rejected their story and them. Don't say what a loss this is to our Church. On a scale of one to ten, that's a minus zero in my caring.

Just a few suggestions for those blessed ones who don't know what this is, this loss.

One day I will write about the things that people have said and done that are right and good and holy. But right now I am having a hard time getting beyond what I am doing wrong, how I am being judged and found wanting.

I laughed today

  

Our writing group starts again this week and I am going to harass, beg , plead and encourage the attendees to keep a daily journal. I can't tell you the comfort that has come from finding my John and my Lord in those pages. Answered prayers jump off the page. And please keep those letters.

 I read one today dated 1-20-00 that John sent from Honduras. He was describing the adventure of cooking in a third world country and his humor lifted me again as it always did.

"..every drawer I opened had moving things in it. I had carefully selected the chicken I was going to serve when Juan and I shopped in Tegucigalpa on Monday. I bought whole chickens figuring that I would cut them up and grill them outside. Using my much improved Spanglish, I asked the cook at the compound if she knew how to cut up a chicken. "Of course," she said. Well, let me tell you there was not one identifiable part to the four chickens that she bludgeoned. I don't know where they get the beef, I have never seen anything that looked like what I was about to cook."  

 I had read those letters in the beginning of this sad pilgrimage and of course missed the humor, unable to see through the tears. It is a grace that I saw it today.

Another grace has come to me. There is a young man at our church, he is the head altar server, a job he takes seriously and does well. I noticed him one day asking a friend how her arm was before Mass as he saw the sling. I put this thoughtfulness in the kindness column that day in my journal. He also approached me to offer sympathy. Now, as I wait in the foyer for the first Mass to end, he stands by me. I sent him a note thanking him. Sunday, he told me how much he missed an older man who passed recently. He said: "He made me laugh and was my friend. Then he paused and said, "like you are my friend." And Yes, I am and am blessed by it.

Somewhere in my many grief books, I read that laughing heals. Today, I thank my love once again for helping me. I know two things: We are never alone and God provides. Amen.

thank you for this hard time

Liz Clark art.

I had no idea I could trust this much. 

The bills will get paid, the roof won't leak, you will figure out how to scan. Do not panic that half your life has been ripped away. "I trust that You have this. You have had my whole life , why would you let me go now? Lord, I trust in You."

I had no idea how real the afterlife is.

The veil between here and there is quite thin and I believed that but now I know it. Deeply. My life with John continues in a new and different way. One day, after his passing , I asked John if he was still around. The next morning I was awakened to his voice loudly calling "Honey." Except for that day, I don't ask for these nudges, whispers, dreams, synchronicities but they come and for just a moment ease the pain. I am on my knees in gratitude. 

I had no idea how deeply I could love. I always knew that I didn't want to be away from John for more than two days and not having him in my life was unthinkable. But now I am in awe of how deep that love was and is and what a gift to have that in my life. It is not given to everyone, this kind of love.

 I had no idea what the beatitude: " Blessed are they who mourn, they shall be comforted" would look like. A friend who walks you out of church every Sunday, holding your hand. A note, a ham dinner, flowers, calls, songs, a book. They come, the Body of Christ, and they comfort. His people. 

One friend moved away a few years ago but her words as she reads my stories have been such a blessing. I have a small book that she sent "Grief Therapy". On page two I read this: " Be open to the pain of your broken heart. God enters through the brokenness". That's what I have been trying to say.

a ghost, St.Anthony finds things and I'm not crazy.

   

A poem dropped in my messages yesterday that caused quite a stir. My niece, who has been a rock in my storm, sent it and it has this verse:

                                        You're the Ghost 

                 ......."You walk around ,doing all the right things,

                            putting one foot in front of the other,

                    living, but it's really as though you're the ghost 

                               ...perhaps you are 

             perhaps your soul searches, until you find the one you miss.."

Bingo! That is exactly what I have been doing. Looking for John. Holding on to John. Rereading journals, looking for his thoughts, his name....reading books he mentions in some letters and notes he left behind. A constant search for the one who is lost. I must be crazy.

Yesterday I got in my mind that I had to find the rosary that John gave me when we were dating. A beautiful silver one that we hoped to pray while kneeling on the floor with the children we would have. I hadn't used it because it was broken in some way but I knew I had it somewhere.

Try the desk, no, try the trunk, no, try every closet in the house. Crying, sad, saying sorry I didn't take good care of it. Praying to St. Anthony. Using all the tissues in the house, lunatic weeping. Finally I was exhausted and gave up. Then later when I was less addled, the saint whispered :"Try the desk again". There it was, not among the ten others but in a plastic bag to keep it safe. See, I did treasure it and keep it. My precious gift.

The poem ends this way:

                    ....."...until you find the one you miss, and they tell you to go back and live.

                               You don't belong here in the ether,

                         nor do you need to search for the one you lost,

                       they find you and when they do, you'll feel it."

Thank you Donna Ashworth (poem), Teresa and St. Anthony for helping me realize that being a searching ghost is O.K., that when he finds me I do feel it and that is good and maybe I am just a little bit not crazy.

the harvest

 

I have kept a journal since 1987 when I started a running log.

1-28-87 Wed.  "Ran about a mile with John and Charlie. Felt awful, had to stop."   

 If I was being swept away by a raging river and you were on the shore and couldn't help me but shouted: "Any last words of wisdom?" I would gurgle and yell: "KEEP A JOURNAL."

 I found these words yesterday in my journal: "08-09-99 Hot Springs Jesuit House of Prayer. "Soon I meet with Fr. George.  What will it be like? A kind man who knows how to listen. He said the work of the Holy Spirit is this:

-Unity-mending relationships.

-Guidance-where to go.

-Enlightenment- so we see the truth

-Urges us to use our gifts.

Never heard this truth put this way. Yes."

On 12-22-20 I received this vision while sitting with a spiritual directee.

 "Three words kept floating by: waves, harvest and obedience. Over and over .Then I saw a person sitting on the shore with waves breaking over her legs, going in and out. She just sat there and after awhile she started crying, sobbing, bereft. A thin wispy Being came and sat next to her. A Being almost like a mirage having just enough substance to be seen. The Being spoke:

"What is the matter? The woman said: "I am lost." The Being said "You mean you don't know where you are? " "No," the woman said "I don't know why I am here." "Ah," the Being said, "I can help with that. In the sand make a list of your talents, personality traits, proclivities, what positive things you have to offer the world and next to that write how you are using each one for the Kingdom, for the good of yourself and others." 

With that the woman got up and went home with a new purpose and the Being stepped into the sea."

The date of this vision was 12-22-20, exactly one year to the day that John left me bereft.

The waves of grief come and go, I will be obedient and use my talents and leave it all in the hands of the Being who knew what was to happen and gave me a roadmap. The harvest is His. 

 

my birthday

Special days are hard they say. We got through John's birthday, Easter and now my birthday loomed. Alone for the first time. My children had a lovely celebration for me the day before. Food brought, stellar gifts and cards, a call from the ex-pat living in Australia. 

On the real day, a friend came by with such lovely gifts, a cake, and wisdom. She listened and buoyed my spirits. Then lunch with another angel who loves me and I her. Flowers delivered. Christ came to me in flesh, these people in my life.

And then something happened that made me glow each time I thought of it. The picture to the right is John on the bottom and his older brother Win next step above. John loved his brother and called him on birthdays, holidays and when storms hit Texas. 

That day John's nephew sent a text that Win was in the hospital with a possible stroke. His son Eric was with him and I called the number I was given and spoke to the son. They were waiting some seven hours to get an answer. Then I spoke to Win and we had a laugh and I told him I was praying for him.

This is the thing that is hard to explain. I have never been a person that likes to be on the phone. Dig around in my past to know why, I have no idea, but this day I had no choice about the call. I knew what John would have wanted and I was happy to do it. His goodness goes on. I glowed because I felt close to him. We are still a team.

This new Camino

 

  "A pilgrim does not demand. A pilgrim is grateful. A good pilgrim is she who listens to the stones talk. A roof to sleep under, a puddle to wash in, bread to eat, and a Camino to walk. Each pilgrim walks their own Camino. If you get blisters, bless them. Amen"

 I found this prayer the other day and it gave me hope that the way I am walking this new unwanted path is O.K.

I was astounded the first time I saw John kneel at a stone cross at the beginning of our 500 mile walk to Santiago in Spain. He did this at every cross we encountered and he told me later he prayed for health, safety and to keep going. His very public display impressed me. And the things he prayed for , we experienced. Pilgrims had to leave the path because of sickness or bleeding feet, We did not. A few people were killed crossing a highway, we were safe. And although we only walked 175 miles, we did reach Santiago and the Mass at the end, we kept going.

I found a small envelope in John's desk and inside was his Camino shell. I found mine and attached them to two walking sticks. I put them in the corner of the porch under a cross and each morning I do what my beloved did, kneel and pray for health, safety and to keep going. And for John.

For awhile I wondered what I was doing, did it make sense. Maybe doubting yourself is part of grief along with everything else .Then I found this in a book a dear friend sent: "In my hour of grief, rituals found me, They became signposts for me along the difficult path I was walking .Rituals helped me to realize that I was not alone, and I was not lost. I was simply in a strange new land." "A Hole in the World."

I have a roof, bread, I am not alone, and I am listening to the stones. I am grateful.

what a strange land

The place where I have been dwelling for these six months is hard to describe. The ups and downs, tears and love yes, love. I feel it surrounding me in memories and insights. A continuum of the life I had before but in a different form. 

The other day a memory came back of when John and I were newly dating. It was 1965 and that August he went off with his Dad to Saratoga to work at the racetrack. He never got a high school ring so I gave him mine to wear as a remembrance. It looked good on him with its gold and red stone.

One night when I was doing something in my room a thought came very suddenly out of the blue: he's lost your ring. Odd. The next night he called and sadly he told me that having lost so much weight in the heat , the ring slipped off and despite looking tirelessly it was gone. I couldn't believe it, how did I know? I was pretty excited thinking I had some great gift like ESP. My mother was not. She had paid for the ring.

It had been years since that incident came to my mind and when it did the other day I realized this: I have not demonstrated gifts like that since. It was always because John and I were connected that I knew. Where did that understanding come from all these years later?

 There were hardships, pot holes, misunderstandings and heart aches but the string was always tethered to our hearts and one pull and all was well. And now the person I love sees all things clearly with an eternal eye. He uses songs, dreams, and long ago happenings to help me see that we are still connected by that golden string that I first wound around my finger when I was 14.

the very thin veil

 

Dear John,

 I got your message. It took awhile but I figured it out.

 Last night I had a dream if you can call it that. It had been a lonely day as many are. What occurred had never happened before and I found it so strange. Persistently, this thought kept coming to mind each time I woke up which was often: "Luke 7:28." I had no idea what that passage was but it kept repeating over and over like a broken record. Luke 7:28.I memorized it because it seemed important. When I woke up, I forgot all about it. But I wasn't supposed to and it came back and I wrote it down. Now I needed to know what that was all about.

The verse reads : "I assure you , there is no man born of woman greater than John. Yet, the least born into the kingdom of  God is greater than he." Luke 7:28. I pondered that and then this occurred to me, how many verses in the thousands of the Bible speak of a John? What spiritual message did that passage have for me. Then I knew why that verse. 

And I also know that it is the first sentence that you were really sending, the one where you are the greatest because that is our joke. You used to say: "I was so gorgeous once". "Grahams are the greatest".etc.

"When we ourselves enter the eternal world and come to see our lives in full view, we may be surprised at the immense assistance and support with which our departed loved ones have accompanied every moment of our lives." John O'Donohue.

I will not be surprised at all.

you'll never walk alone

 Dear John,

 So many people have been at my side through these hard days, it would make you smile.

 At Mass, I sit in our pew, 7th from the front, and leave a space on the end. Our dear Jessica was there for weeks which was good for us both. One week I was alone and a lady who sits back a bit came up in her bright African garb and asked if she could sit with me. I will never forget the comfort of her.

How can I repay our pastor who came to the hospital at 2 A.M. to anoint you and who cut short his vacation to say the Mass for you in the woods in January. Or the two soldiers who stood near the altar during the Mass and then reverently folded our beautiful flag to present to me. Or your two sailor grandsons and our beautiful granddaughters who did the readings and the prayers of the faithful. All trail angels on this hard camino I did not choose.

 You were my trail angel that year in Spain on the Camino, carrying my bag, mailing stuff home, getting me to a dentist. Why would I think that your helping me had ended?

Last Sunday I almost skipped Mass. It was a hard week-end, our 55th wedding anniversary was that Friday. I was tired and I could have used the aged card,  the widow card or the watch on live stream card but something got me moving. I was joined by a dear, dear friend who knew exactly where to sit, on my right. We stood to sing the "Glory to God in the Highest" and I felt a nudge to focus, a second of pure joy, then I felt and heard this: "I am here."

"Walk on through the wind, walk on through the rain though your dreams be tossed and blown, walk on, walk on with hope in your heart and you'll never walk alone, you'll never walk alone." Amen.

One foot in front of the other on the Camino

Dear John,

 It seems difficult to believe that it was almost 9 years ago that we landed in Paris to begin our walk on the Camino in Spain. Pilgrims. A word you treasure. 

Some notes from my journal:

-"High up in the Pyrenees was a stone cross. It said 'Je suis de Chemin'. 'I am the Way'. Tears when I see John kneel in the dirt for all to see praying for : safety, heath and to keep going."

-"John carries my sleeping bag, Mike carries my pack. A metaphor for life: You can't do it alone."

-"There is something on the wall of this auberge that speaks of shadow chasing.-that we rush through the Camino as we do our lives....

.."John is good, worthy, a vibrant man women are attracted to, the 70 year old, the kneeling pilgrim. The man who helps the peasant lady push her wheelbarrow filled with cabbage up a hill. Who buys cokes for the weary."

-"The Camino is not heaven, it is a path trod by people like us. I have seen simple acts of kindness from "trail angels" like the earplugs from Earl the EMT, then the inn owner riding around looking for the pilgrim's shoes mistakenly taken from his porch, John carrying Almut's pack for awhile. On the Path some listen for the whispers of Spirit, some not....John felt heaven in the Carrion Church when the sun shone down through the window warming his face."

-Mass at the Cathedral in Leon: I heard this in my mind: "Profound, profound, we are all profoundly significant."

Day 30 10-04-13 Santiago Cathedral-

-"The Feast of St. Francis. St. Clare's words stay with me: "Let nothing distract you from the course you have set before you, of perfection in Christ Jesus." 

Now I am on a different Path without you by my side. How can that be? My feet aren't throbbing with pain but my heart is. I know this: I will put one foot in front of the other on this new camino until the end.

  

  

  

Get the For Sale sign, the mad woman thinks.

 

Dear John,

Going around the house and yard today doing some dusting and cleaning for tomorrow, weepily, I am aware of being followed or led or just reminded. I can see why the newly widowed pack up and run. There is not a thing in this house and woods that we treasured for 30 years that doesn't speak of you.

The bench I asked you to move to the woods so I could sit and gaze during Advent. I can hear your words: "What will the front of the house where it sits look like without it ?" I am moving it back tomorrow.

Every rose bush, small tree from the Arbor Society, speaks of you. I can see you bent over packing the dirt. The only orchid still with flowers is my Christmas gift from you. The vase of dried flowers I collected that day when you said "yes" to my idea of going to sit by the river writing haiku. It was Christmas and we were alone for the first time. You, John Wayne, said "yes". It was a lovely time. Thank you.

(I know you readers are just waiting for a miracle and there is one.) The other day, while going through my collection of postcards for our writing group, I came upon one attached to a folded card I assumed was blank. It is a picture of the small old church we love in Phoenicia, in the Catskills. I picked it up and almost put it in a stack assuming it was one I bought as a souvenir one summer. Instead I opened to find a Birthday card from you dated 2016. 

Inside, handwritten, was a quote from St Teresa of Avila that you, in the mystery of things, knew I would one day need. You had never quoted a saint in my recollection ever and I don't even remember this handmade card but the words are holding me together. "Let nothing disturb you, nothing frighten you, all things pass, God does not change, patience achieves everything".

Curiously enough, unknown I am sure to you, this quote is on the wall of my home Church and I saw it every Sunday for years.

So, "no", I am not leaving. I will stay as long as possible tending those small trees, sweeping the porch where the wrens perch. I will let these memories wash over me and knock me silly until one day you will greet me again with that smile.  

"She liked me and I liked her."

 

Dear John,

   While trying to figure out the bills in your very organized cabinet, I spotted a folder that said "memories". It took me the longest time to take that out. What I was afraid of, I have no idea. What I found among cards and letters were a few pages you wrote while in Honduras in 2005.

  You were working from a memoir book and answering questions on paper. You wrote about early happy memories that included your Dad whistling for you from up the street, your brother Bob seeming to enjoy your company, sister Bernie walking with you while you dove in piles of leaves. You also mentioned your teacher, Sister Noemi, who gave you words to hang onto when you left grammar school in a fright: "It will be alright." And the day we met at 14."You wrote: "She liked me and I liked her". Yes, we did.

 In a separate sheet you spoke of being impressed with Rupert Sheldrake who was mentioned in a book about the labyrinth called "Walking A Scared Path". More than once you told me of his quote: "People should be pilgrims not tourists". I think that resonated with you because you indeed were on a pilgrimage each time you went to Central America to help God's children there.

 Well, still trying to hold onto you I went to Amazon and looked for his books. He has many and I chose "Science and Spiritual Practices". It is about the physical and mental benefits from certain activities that man has engaged in for millennia. For some reason when the book came, dark and with Queen Anne's Lace on the cover, I held it to my heart and thought: "This is your idea".

 And so it was. This book came to my hand to help me through the thicket of loss. It already has. There will be nothing new but just a nudge in the right direction.

The first two chapters were about meditation and gratitude. They were part of my life before and they will be again.  

And then I found among the cards this prayer typed on a piece of paper that must have meant much to you to be in that folder This, if said once with intent, could change a life. 

"My Lord,

I offer you my all-

whatever I possess, and more,

myself.

Detach me from the craving for 

prestige, position, wealth.

Root out of me

all trace of envy of my neighbor

who has more than I.

Release me from the vice of pride, my longing to exalt myself, and lead me to the lowest place.

May I be poor in spirit, Lord,

so that I may be rich in you."

John, you were rich in Him and I love you.

I'm glad it was me.

 Dear John,

   The panic is receding, the fear of this new landscape where I live.

I don't cry in Kroger anymore because I don't go there. No checkouts, just scans, my Irish fanny. How do you scan a cucumber? My gas is now pumped by me, how many things did you do that I never acknowledged? I am taking a pitiful amount of pride in doing these small things.

 T.J. Called, he had no idea you had left us. He said he came to America because of John Wayne and you were like him. You will be thrilled to know that his grandson is a priest. The Duke not T.J. Your old work friends are shattered.

 In your view, the kids always came first and they are doing exactly would a great Dad would expect. I know you are proud. There is nothing I need that they will not help me with.

In 1998, I had a strange dream .I walked into a room and saw that you had been knocked down by a priest. I saw the Roman collar and started yelling :"Why don't you pick him up." I had another dream once where we both were captured and the miscreants said I could go to safety but not you. There is no way I would leave you behind in that dream or ever.

This is a roundabout way of saying  that I am glad it was me left here. I am glad it is me suffering your loss.  You were a wonderful, holy man (except for the language arts) and you deserved a happy last day and smooth passage to the next place. It would kill me to think of you ever suffering and so we go on, the family and I. 

Remember singing "You'll Never Walk Alone" in June at Mass with that amazing priest in Phoenicia ? We know you are with us and we will live somehow, knowing that.

This isn't even in the same galaxy

  

 A lovely "thinking of you" card came that demonstrated in just one word how no one gets this and never will  until it is served on their plate.

 "I hope this card takes away a little of your sadness." .All was well as this long time friend described what was going on in her life. Another new church family,  living far from children,  a new exercise facility  and so on. Then the sadness remark. I sat up and cried. Sadness is when your football team loses the Super Bowl. Or your dog of 17 years has to be put down and you carry his collar around for two days. And the second is deep sadness which is why people now send cards but  that word doesn't come close to what this is. The closest is desolation. Grey, desert, cloud covered bleakness. 

The other day on Facebook someone posted that round Buddha face with closed eyes and knowing, semi-smile. The script read something like :" Attachment is the source of sorrow. Detachment is the source of peace." I wish someone had told me that before I started dating John 57 years ago and spent my whole life with him. I would have dated casually forever or if married, kept some distance. What was I thinking ?

I know this sounds petty, picking on a well meaning friend but this is the anger, frustration phase that has circled back again. It nudged out the depression for awhile. Sadness is not pounding the desk with closed fists and crying when you can't get the black ink cartridge in because you are on a deadline to get some forms copied and  into your benefits office to pay for a hospital bill. That isn't sadness, it is full blown madness.

Sodden, endless grief.

 How do you describe this? For 57 years years, even when he was not with me , he was with me. Now he is not only not with me but he is not with me. When you are inside the quiet holiness of Notre Dame and see the stained glass beauty you don't ever look out and see the grey dull buttresses holding it all up. They are not noticed but they are there.

You don't want to leave the house because you know you will come back and see once again that he is not there. You cannot imagine going to your favorite used bookstore and not see him sitting in a light colored stuffed chair patiently waiting for you to finish, reading a book he will not buy. It's all for you

Go to the lovely restaurant that you were going to go to on New Years' Eve, a tradition ?Unthinkable.

You make the mistake of rereading journals looking for him in the pages and find that each page sparkles and is lit with joy for the little things that make you happy. The green grass, the sun, birds, a tree ,turkeys, books, walks and it occurs to you that you hardly notice anything anymore.

And for the first time, you are thinking of going to bed at 6 p.m. and not eating dinner because it just doesn't matter. 

No words offered, no words given, can change what you know. The light has gone out, the TV doesn't work, frozen dinners languish, the bills with his name come, and none of it matters. I don't know when it will matter again. 

signs and wonders

 I

 I have written before about the time I spent on a gurney waiting for my first colonoscopy. Alone and scared I felt something laying by my side fitting perfectly. It was my deceased dog, Cooper. I was comforted and told no one. Surely I conjured. That is until I went on Facebook later that day and found my dog's picture taken 5 years before, and by happenstance, posted that day.

The nudges and signs that say that my beloved husband is still with us have been written about here. And it amazes me that this Advent when I was leading a group at church, one of the points I was trying to make was from something John O'Donohue wrote about: 

"....though the deceased cannot reappear, they continue to be near us and part of the healing of grief is the refinement of our hearts whereby we come to sense their loving nearness. When we ourselves enter the eternal world and come to see our lives on earth in full view, we may be surprised at the immense support with which our departed loved ones have accompanied every moment of our lives." Little did I know the comfort those words would bring me. Was I brought to this understanding by chance?

 I'm pretty sure that the nuns told us not to look for signs and I haven't. They just seem to fall from the sky. I have a dear niece that lost her Mother recently, John's sister. She does ask for signs when missing her family. Today she asked for a sign from John, her uncle, and an hour later while walking her dog she met another lady, unknown to her, walking her dog. They chatted and Aileen asked the dog's name. Cooper.

You may dismiss this as co-incidence, I will allow it except for this. A friend texted me from Florida today and showed me the bookstore she was in. We are both book freaks. I asked her to tell me what she bought. A half hour later, I saw that her new book was one I knew well, "A Walk Across America" by Peter Jenkins. Odd that. I fell in love with that book years ago and the dog who walked by the author's side stole my heart. So I named my precious puppy after him. Can you guess? 

"In their new, transfigured presence their compassion, understanding and love take on a divine depth, enabling them to become secret angels guiding and sheltering the unfolding of our destiny." John O'Donohue. 

what gets me through..

The most surprising things are getting me through this hard time. I am grateful.

On December 4th, John came home and had a small bouquet of flowers in his hand. They were rust colored chrysanthemums and I must admit my enthusiasm was tempered. Those are Fall flowers I thought as if that mattered. 

In the coming days ,I noticed the water had run out but the colors stayed. If you have read my John stories you know that my need to hold onto him has been vast and now I still had those flowers to keep. Joy, just joy. Then my daughter brought flowers and I started to hang them to dry. A friend brought tulips and believe it or not, the petals dried. They are red and yellow in a small glass bowl. I have a whole window of color from this sweet little hobby that has comforted.

The orchid gifts need tending: yellow, white, purple and blue. Who knew that learning about their care would bring solace. The pale purple one from John, my gift for Christmas, still has all its flowers. Of course it does. 

Then there are the hearts connected to mine: sons, a daughter. Their Dad is beaming at how they have done exactly what he would have hoped. The texts and calls and presence as I get used to this empty, empty house.

And those who have prayed and had no idea why, like a distant member of our writing group. Morag, who lives in South Africa. "For some unknown reason I have been praying for you. As I didn't know what to pray for I was committing you into His caring hands." Her wonderful words.

Sitting with two books that contain the photos of Thomas Merton has soothed. Remembering a day at his monastery at Gethsemane where we met a monk and watched the children tumble down a bare hill with such glee.

I found this in my Celtic Daily Prayer Book. 

"The Angel of the poor gave my father two valuable pearls:

man's mission is to be a brother ; God's wealth is the invisible world." 

For those who have treated me like a beloved sister and for those who dwell in the invisible world, I love you.

Guilt and regret-postcard 8

 

One of the stages of grief is regret and guilt. What could I have done differently so this would not have happened? .Was I at all kind that terrible day when the love of my life left us ?I can't describe the weight of those thoughts that were like boulders pressing down on me. In hopeless despair I turned to Mary and said these words; "Help me, I can't bear this." 

I had ignored Mary for years and then the dreams started. Not often but enough to get my attention. I can see myself now in this dream of a few years back. I am standing on a corner in the rain at night and everyone has left me. I have no idea where I am .I see a flashing sign for Corky's Bar, the only place open, and I went in. I said to the bartender: "where is this?". He replied and gave a street name. I said: " No, you don't understand, I have no idea where I am, period." He said: "Staten Island, N.Y and if you need help just go down the road to Stella Maris High School. They will assist you there" Off I went to the building by the sea and then I woke up.

It was not lost on me that Stella Maris is a title for Mary who as our guide is the Star of the Sea. Mary was slowly leading me into her arms.

This December, when I made that plea for help, I was answered immediately in this way. A scene from the 80s came to mind when I was facing a challenge of great import. My response had been one of great patience and love and it had made all the difference to our souls and to our family. I was being told to focus on this and to let the small insignificant things drift away. The burden lifted.

This is from Bernard of Clairvaux:

"O you, whoever you are, who feel that in the tidal wave of this world you are nearer to being tossed about among the squalls and gales rather then treading on dry land....gaze up at this Star ,call out to Mary.......when you begin to founder in the gulf of sadness and despair ,think of Mary, call out to Mary...Keep her in your heart,... Follow the example of her life and you will obtain the favor of her prayer.. Follow her and you will never go astray.. Asking her help, you will never despair. With your hand in hers, you will never stumble.. With her protecting you, you will not be afraid. Her kindness will see you through to the end." 

So, here I am , again having no idea where I am.  I know this: today, a book I have had for awhile was taken off the shelf and, as I absent mindedly scrolled through, there was Bernard waiting to explain who Mary is and what she had done for me in stark, compelling and beautiful words.

Mary , Queen of the angels , pray for us..