Old hymns with a new twist on the melody and rhythm. We've been on a road trip. I found I love road trips--probably a throw-back from my childhood. A road trip for me is a time to think, look out at the scenery, and listen to music. "Let's listen to this one," I said, [...]
Church of the Nativity, Bethlehem We went to a Festival of Lights last evening. The lights were beautifully placed on every tree and bush in the beautiful area called The Grotto. Once a rock quarry, a priest saw the potential in the wild and woodsy spot, found a way to purchase the land, [...]
I love Christmas carols. Not the "Santa Claus is Coming to Town" type of carol, but the ones often written many years ago. I enjoy reading the story behind a song and this one caught my attention. Written by the famous American poet, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, during the Civil War in our country, Longfellow was a [...]
Getting back into the workout routine wasn't as difficult as I thought... My muscles are a little sore today. On a long road trip for more than eight weeks, there's little time to work out in the gym--or even take one of our brisk early morning three mile walks. There's a lot of sitting when [...]
After I read that, sleep was impossible. I lay there, so heartbroken along with my son.
I recalled something I'd learned in my grief class about loss—and memories. They told us our profound loss would one day become precious memories.
Moving forward in life and even in my grieving process has its highs and lows.
I think about my own mother at least once a day. She was a good one. She was wise, intelligent, talented, loving, and beautiful too. I was proud of her. She wasn’t perfect but she was a very good mom.
Things were so different then than now. Mothers now get to see their stillborn baby and say goodbye to them. I didn't have that opportunity because the hospitals just didn't do that then. They were trying to be helpful, but instead, it extended the grieving.
I discovered the terrible loss of a lifetime mate who was the father of my children, was far more difficult than any mountain we’d ever climbed. I remembered those words on the wall by the door in my childhood door: Blessed are you who run to Him. I remembered, and believed. I worked through those lonely harsh days of loss—because grief is work—and began to breathe freely again, just like after a mountain climb and you get to the top.
