Per Ipsum

  Your word is a lamp to my feet...                              Psalm 119   Check up today: Prayers — going well Remembering God's presence—yes  Daily Bible—fair Sleep—moderately good Depression—still there but mild Energy—meh Motivation—none (see below) Walking—going well Writing—up and down Hip stretching—er...not so good Reading—lots Video Games—had to cut back House keeping—not terrible Not much else to report. File the rest under "Be kind to yourself."  There will be no vegetable garden this year. Hired someone to help clean up flower beds. Plan to do some planting. I would like to do a Swedish Death Cleanse and get rid of half my belongings, but perhaps not this year. The basement files are begging for attention. Some things boxed for church rummage sale. Thinking about jumping in the car and going to visit Pam in Columbus. May do it. Stay with me Lord for I am small and alone and there is darkness.

  As soon as I lie down, I fall peacefully asleep, for you alone, O LORD, bring security to my dwelling. Psalm 4            Perhaps it is the glorious sunshine, or the warmth in the air. Perhaps it is my beautiful daffodils—or the music of Easter—but today is a joyful one. OR maybe the privilege of being a Eucharistic minister today. My last counseling session was simple and good. I think I've come to terms with the nature of grief.  It isn't collapsing in pain or uncontrollable tears. There is some sadness, yes, but not a debilitating amount. Regret? Not over my marriage, but I'm letting go of some over parenthood.   My grief is more general malaise and weariness as I adjust to new realities and expectations. It is an inability to imagine the future, which is undoubtedly a good thing. It is work, but it is manageable and it will pass. For now—one day at a time, one step at a time.   And I'm remembering His "word is a lamp unto my feet."

  We had a glorious Easter—Alleluias, soaring music, sunshine, flowers, and warmth. I was reminded, though, that in order to have Easter, you must have Good Friday first. As CS Lewis famously said, "The pain I feel now is the happiness I had before. That is the deal." My readers are probably aware this has been a difficult year. You may not know I lost both one of my daughters and my Beloved of 54 years in a space of three weeks at the beginning of the year. It is a lot to swallow. It will take a good long year of mourning before I can approach normal, if then. This weekend I discovered the concept of "widow brain," a state that includes brain fog and fatigue. there is a growing body of science about the impact of loss on brain function. My whole brain is building new pathways and struggling with old ones. It explained a lot. Every thing I do from the time I get up until i go to bed (and especially then) is new and different. Expected stimuli are missing

Put away from you all bitterness and wrath and anger and wrangling and slander,    together with all malice...                                                                                                            Ephesians 4:31 I am skipping Sloth for now because this one has been with me during my Lenten pondering this year. What is wrath? Though it is a synonym for anger, it is sometimes defined as forceful, vindictive anger. It implies resentment and vengeance. It struck me recently that it is a good example for explaining the difference between petty sins and big sin. It is one thing to confess, time after time, "I snapped at my sister-in-law at a gathering" or "I yelled at my husband three times." It is quite another to dig out deep-seated long-term resentment and anger that lies under those frequent sins and pull it up by its roots. Without God's help, we have no hope of doing that. The snapping and yelling are manifestations of the sin we may be harb

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me. Psalm 23:4 I've never lived alone before. The quiet is deafening, hence the need for the TV to be on. I'm talking to Ambrose, the bear every day. SIGH. It occurred to me yesterday that I am reluctant to wake up in the morning. I get a decent night's sleep, wake at 7:30 or 8, and then roll over, letting melatonin hangover drop me back into dreams. I've been sleeping until 10! I may be using my need for sleep after hospice (which is very real) as an excuse to avoid getting up to an empty house. I've also been pondering advance grief. Is it possible I'm finished already? I was relatively calm when the decision for hospice was made because Greg and I had had suspected heart failure all along. Dr. Yasmajian thinks not. She suspects that caregivers frequently experience relief in the immediate aftermath of death that masks o

I do not ask to see the distant scene; one step enough for me. Cardinal Newman    Another day and again I ask what am I to do. I've begun to write, and I put that in God's hands. Does He want me to spend my time or part of it writing novels of love and romance? Seems trivial, but then, he's never asked me to step out of the domestic sphere. The world of marriage and family is where he put me. It is the one thing he actually said to me. But without Greg... I think of Greg with a smile, and I carry around a bear made of one of his shirts. I feel like a whole new life is flickering awake for me. I have no idea what it will bring. And what role with Rachel's sudden passing play? No idea. One step...

Whenever we imagine we are in control of life—our own or someone else's—we have fallen prey to the ancient whisper in the Garden: "You shall be like gods." Magnificat, Vol 24 Number 12, February 27, 2024 It is now forty-one days since my Beloved, my love for 54 years slipped gently away to God.  Suffering with his heart for all of his eighty years, it finally gave out after two particularly long difficult years of care. The last six months of in-home hospice care were a blessing. Every day from our anniversary July 26 until his death I knew exactly what God expected of me--caring for my husband round the clock. It was the longest period in my life when my calling was brilliantly clear. Every moment of it was a blessing. Greg always said God would take him when He was ready and was perfectly at peace. We had lived every day of the last thirty years since the last crisis as if it could be our last. We had no regrets or work undone. we had traveled and spent endless time en