With Respect

It is with respect that I write.  This will be difficult, a confession of sorts, a convoluted confession for certain.

Friday is a joy filled day.  In profile, Sam is his dad, my son.  Full face, Sam is his mom, my daughter-in-law.  In his Sam-ness he is the absolute best of both parents.  Friday is a great day and like, all great things, it ends.

When Paul and Sam left today, so did my resolve of spirit.  I give in and sometimes I give up, helpless before the grief, the loneliness, the void of this house emptied of what was home.

Ronald Rolheiser is president of the Oblate School of Theology in San Antonio, Texas.  In his article,  Dealing With Loss, Grief, and Obsessions, Rolheiser wrote, “…and no religious word of comfort can do much for us”.

This is where I need to write with all due respect to those who tell me that prayer will heal, that God never requires more than a person can manage, that God has a plan that includes this ridiculous debilitating pain.   There are those that tell me that it is my arrogance that causes me to question The Plan.


I am not praying.

I can’t.

I am holing on, smiling at strangers, attempting focused conversations with family, remembering to eat, cleaning with dervish energy, consciously aware of how much I love my family and value my friends, honoring commitments, consciously, one moment after another.

This is all deliberate, my one-foot-in-front-of-the-other effort to reach deeply enough to find something good and noble in grief.  Goodness and nobility in grief?  Not going happen, but there is goodness and nobility in  family and friends, because of their outreach, their attempts to force time to compact, to tunnel through the process.

Perhaps their prayers on my behalf are part of that goodness and nobility, but for now, I cannot join them.  I don’t have the patience to believe nor the trust in acceptance that is to come on some distant tomorrow.




Some months ago, many blogs had my standard disclaimer:  This is a ramble, a mind trip with no planned destination.  Today is a ramble.

A wandering mind comes to so many odd junctures.  A word, a phrase turns torrent without conscious effort.  Old and seemingly solid belief systems get cracked or discarded during the wonder.

Cleaning, sorting, discarding years is inviting awe at the depth of Bob’s talents and interests.  Not only did his light stay under a barrel, but he covered the barrel with camouflage.    What he knew and what he loved, were ours alone.  He gave an amazing clarity to the concept of not caring what others thought or knew of him.  Self-Respect did not require public validation .

As Mark, my oldest son, reminds me, “Mom, you got your happily ever after.  How many people can say that? You can!”

Right.  I did get the happily ever but now I have the after. I am grateful.