Three days left

I'm having a great week - incredibly relaxing and meaningful to my soul. I'm trying to stay focused on the tasks I've set for myself, but yesterday didn't do as much work as I'd planned. Just couldn't get there. I did some journaling about Dad and finished C.S. Lewis's A Grief Observed. As with the first time I read it years ago - I took copious notes.

Today I'm going to hit the books again - journal and reading, that is. I'm going to go for a walk in the cold, sunshiney day. And I'm going to try to do some writing - not just journaling. We'll see how it goes.

I wrote last night in my journal that I had a suspicion I wasn't going to want to go home. So I asked myself "why?" I'm giving that some thought, and am going to try to get myself in a place where I want to go home on Friday - be in a place where I can enjoy what I have at home. Because what I have, the life I have, is a blessed one. And that's something I need to always remember.

Yes, this time alone has been remarkable and incredibly refreshing. But I can take these lessons of time reading, journaling, praying, and put them to good use at home too. It is just a matter of not boxing myself into a corner with busy-ness.

I can do that if I choose to.

Still life

I didn't bring my camera with me ... too bad.

Because the wooden basket on the dining table is now filled with the most beautiful apples, mangoes, lemons and clementines.

Pretty to look at and deeply satisfying to my heart. Could it be because of Dad's love for fresh fruits and veg? That's probably it ...

I'm on a week-long personal retreat in the beautiful Colorado mountains. I've never done this before, but it is something I really need. I'm here to journal and think, pray, reflect, read, and have a little quiet time for my soul. Do some grieving for Dad - crying, remembering, writing, grieving about not being a mom - more crying and writing, work on some personal issues, and rest. Spend time with God. That actually is not only primary but essential.

This is something I really need, and am so looking forward to.

My groceries are bought, my books and journals are laid out, my iPod is ready to go. I have some of my favorite movies, a nice bottle of wine for the evenings, and my comfiest slippers and pjs.

What more could I need?

Will I get lonely? Maybe, but I doubt it. I do already miss Egg - thought about bringing him. So lonely in the bed without his fuzzy little body. But sunshine and God are here with me, and all the love and prayers of my friends and family who said to me, "Go! Do this for yourself!"

Still life on my table, still life in my heart in a week of quiet and reflection.

Thanksgiving Day

My cat has a cold. An actual sniffles, sneezing, congestion, wheezing cold.

Or maybe its a sinus infection. I'm not sure which.

How many cats get colds? In all my years...

When he sneezes, yes, I wipe his nose with a tissue. I give him extra snuggling (not much of a burden), and I comfort him when he feels crummy. Too bad I can't give him hot tea to drink. :-)

Sometimes, when life seems extra hard, its the littlest things that bring us that extra touch of joy. My poor kittie has a cold, but his little face, his warm body, his purring (even with a stuffy nose) do that for me.

Today is Thanksgiving, and there is much for which I am thankful. Here's just a sampling...

my kittie, of course

being able to make a rockin' good pie (crust included)

beautiful yarn

hot tea in the mornings

my amazing husband

sisters with whom I have wonderful relationships

my God who sustains me and holds me in the cup of his hand

May your day be filled with family, love and delicious food!

The holidays begin

We're slogging through the holidays over here. Thanksgiving with my family was accomplished yesterday with some pains. That's about the best I can say about it.

I'm leaving Friday for a week long personal retreat. I can't wait for these days alone in the mountains. I have some tough work to do on my insides, though, so it won't be all fun and games. I really need to process through some of my toughest issues - forgiveness, grief, resentment. I hope to do lots of reading, journaling, crying, praying. I hope to have hours and hours of quiet. And I'm thinking of taking my sewing machine and spending some hours making something pretty.

Today will be a quiet day. Tomorrow Thanksgiving with Tim's parents. Friday I leave.

And then December I'll try to control the whirlwind of holiday activities - practice saying "no" even though I'm not very good at it.

The best news? I've received the all-clear from my surgeon, a gyn and my primary physician. I'm good to go, with just a little bit of healing left to do. I'm getting my energy back, and that feels tremendous. So thankful to have come through all this with only one scar - granted, an 8" scar.

At the table yesterday some of said in quite voices what we were thankful for. Tim said, "I'm thankful for my wife who makes each day better than it would have been without her."

I said, "I'm thankful I don't have cancer."

Tough days ahead as I continue mourning Dad and work on some boundaries in my life that have needed some attention for quite some time. But I will work through it. And come through to a better place, a better me.

Now and forever more

The song fills my house...

I will lift up mine eyes to the hills from whence cometh my help,

my help cometh from the Lord,

the Lord which made heaven and earth.

He said He would not suffer thy foot, thy foot to be moved;

the Lord which keepth thee - He will not slumber nor sleep.

Oh, the Lord is thy keeper, the Lord is thy shade

upon thy right hand.

No, the sun shall not smite Thee by day, nor the moon by night.

He shall preserve thy soul even forever more.

My help, all of my help, cometh from the Lord.

I miss Dad so much. I think a lot about those days in the hospital, the quiet hours passing, our conversations, the precious moments. I see Dad lying there in the dim light, knowing the truth of these words - that our Lord was right there. And now, still, He is right here with me.

I think about Dad's journey - the one he had to walk alone - and what must have been going on in his mind, and how often we spoke of God and His plan, the appointment of our days. I think about God being my keeper, my shade - right there beside me, beside Dad as we sat there hour after hour. The words of the song ring true - Lord is thy keeper, the Lord is thy shade

upon thy right hand.

How can I adequately express the truth that I have not been abandoned by God - to the contrary. The Almighty, the One, the I Am who held us close to his bosom through the dark hours, the saddest days, is still holding me, is still my shade, stands at my right hand ready to lend me aid.

And my father, my daddy, now sits by His side and he shall no longer feel the heat of the sun or the cold of the moon. His soul is preserved forever more. The help he called on is the God he now praises forever.

And that is the same God I love.

I lift up mine eyes unto the hills.

All of my help cometh from the Lord.

I lift up my eyes, overflowing with tears, and I am sad, thankful, in awe all at once.

All of my help cometh from the Lord.

Fall into winter

When winter days come, and the sunshine is muffled by clouds, and socks stick to my wool sweaters as I fold laundry, I snuggle down into my life and breath a sigh of relief.

It is as if the hustle and bustle of summer is over. The extra hours of daylight, the extra hours of work in the garden have once more passed into snowy afternoons and evenings of firelight and board games.

Soup will simmer on the stove, my knitting basket will always be within reach, and we'll snuggle deeper into our blankets.

I breath a sigh of relief as I see the clouds coming over the mountains, darkening the day and hastening evening. My hands smell like dryer sheets, Egg sleeps contentedly on my coat thrown onto a dining room chair, and I can see Tim out in the garage, bundled in an old fleece jacket.

My favorite time of year.

And although this year, fall changing into winter brings with it more pain and more healing as we progress along the road of missing Dad and learning to live without his warmth, his smile, his presence in our lives, I can still choose to treasure each day, each leaf that crunches under my feet, each morning I awaken with Egg snuggled in my arms and Tim getting dressed in the cold bedroom.

"Pain is not bad." I've said it a hundred times. And it remains true. If I face my pain, if I allow the thoughts of missing and sadness to fill my eyes with tears, it brings with it healing. If I push it to the side, ignore it, and try to just "get on with it", I will suffer, as if dragging a growing boulder behind me.

So I'll face it, and I'll choose to be encouraged and uplifted as I see Earth turning and revolving through space, shifting her face away from the Sun and once again journeying to the colder side of our year.

Nasty business

I've put it off for way too long, because I just couldn't face it. It seemed too painful, too complicated. Just too hard.

That dreaded stack of insurance statements and bills from our summer of hell.

Seems like it shouldn't be such a big deal - just a task, an accounting job. But it has somehow become tied up with all the emotions and struggles of the summer - losing Dad, the stress of getting sick right after his death, the physical trauma I've undergone, the stress of Tim being unable to work for almost 10 weeks, and on top of all that, the financial strain that has come along with all of this.

But the task, for today at least, is accomplished. Every bill that isn't being contested is paid. I have all my little piles organized. I'm just waiting on word from the insurance company on some details.

What a huge relief.

And I only cried once. And it does feel incredibly good to have it done (almost). And it didn't feel like going back under the knife or freshly burying Dad.

But it did somehow feel like I was doing a reckoning of the losses of the past 5 months. It did almost feel like I was counting the cost of missing Dad, of not spending the summer hiking or gardening, of not seeing the golden aspens this fall, or having the energy or strength to wrestle with my nephews.

Because I'm not very good at compartmentalizing. I'm not like a box of crayons where every piece of my life is clearly labeled and easily discerned one from the other. I'm like a crazy pointillist painting where the whole that you see from a distance is made up of many tiny pieces. I think we're all like that. And sometimes the colors blur, and sometimes this bleeds into that. Beautiful, complex, sometimes hard to understand, with all our emotions bleeding into each other, affecting how we feel from seemingly unrelated points of influence.

But that's one more step taken toward healing and a whole heart. One more step toward peace and away from worry and burden. One more step taken with my hand being securely held by my Father Above.

Big sigh.