Long hours worked.

Days spent at the hospital, weekends on drill and the pager that went off at ungodly hours. The pinging sounding a soldier with wings.

Last rites administered, returning home, he would make the sign of the cross on our heads, we knew nought; unaware he had sat besides deaths door.

The journey of those 60 years summed up in that example.

What is a life well lived if you have not served your fellow man?

What mark have your left if the imprint of Christ’s cross cannot be seen by those who walk with your offspring?

I can only imagine what he would tell me today, eleven years after his passing.

Most likely it would be to vaccum out my car, change it’s oil and call my mom.

He would also, like Tolkein, tell me “not to let grief harden my heart”.

So today I sit with a grateful heart for the man that walked with me.










Adding the days and counting the years.

Pages are turned.

The statute of limitations has long since expired on my mourning period, but the dull ache remains.

I remind myself that this relationship was one that was designed for the goodbye. That his going and my staying on that dark October day almost eight years past, was supposed to occur.


And in reality I don’t think I could imagine my life without that painful ending.

The loss has framed my existence.

If he were alive now and I were to have had those years back as his daughter- would I be the women and the mother I have become?

It is doubtful.FullSizeRender

So it is in these days when the winds change and the leaves begin to fall, that instead of focusing on all that was lost I must learn to be grateful for all that was gained.