I finally said it out loud yesterday – that I am missing Trudy and wishing she were here. The sentiments and sorrows have been coming on again, and as natural as they are, they still surprise me with striking chords of bittersweet pain. Pain in not having my sister and parents here; leveled remembrances of all the emotional twist uniquely found in familial love.
Thank God for the sun today. I do so much better when it is sunny. I feel pulled to read my Daily Prayer book even though it has lain dormant in the basket for several months. And I read the notes I made nearly two years ago for today’s reading.
My notes from two years ago, followed by the reading for Seventh Day Morning – A Diary of Private Prayer by John Baille
April 7, 2012 : I sit here on Trudy’s cream backgrounded, watercolor-flowered print couch and see the sun streaming into her living room and den – perfectly spaced square panels of light painted on her now cleared and cleaned carpets. (As I write this I hear the geese honking overhead – it’s a perfect spring day after releasing Trudy to the farmland yesterday.) I want to wake up Les; for him to see this before the sun moves and the squares go away, but instead wait and reach for today’s reading. How perfect it is. Tomorrow is Easter. The day after that we leave for home.
The body doesn’t lie. When I forget, or think I have forgotten, this body made of spirit and flesh holds memories of light, sounds, scents and seasons – seasons of the calendar and those of our private lives of losses and beginnings. So that time and time again I am greeted in books, words spoken by others, and dreams with connecting points too coincidental and soulfully soothing to be anything other than God’s creative, powerful and loving presence in my life. And I hear again the promise, “I am with you“.
How grateful I am to find these words again today as reminders of all the days with my family, the days we said goodbye, and today’s sunshine slides of spirits being near.