Trust

I recently finished a cheap Kindle book about grief called "The Circumference of Hope," by Margot Storti-Marron. It turned out to be an excellent little book. It was a series of essays written after the author suffered the loss of several loved ones in a rather quick period of time.

One of my favorite quotes from the book was "Loss sometimes feels like encountering a strange place in a familiar landscape." She is a therapist and she writes about her clients telling her that one of the things their grief has changed for them is their expectations. She goes on to say how people had expectations of a paticular future with their loved ones, and now they don't. And they are, understandably sad about this.

That's a very big part of the reason this particular quote on "trust" spoke to me. I had expectations that I would outlive all three of my children. I had hopes and dreams for my son. And now, not only do I have to let go of the hopes and dreams, I no longer have his physical presence in my day to day life.

My own grief swells and then settles down. That is the way it will be for a long time. Lately, the permanence of his physical absence has weighed down on me.

I'm only saying these things as facts and as an admonition to make the most of your present moments. As we all know, but often tend to try and ignore, none of us is guaranteed more than our present breath. Probably no one needs to be reminded of this more than I do at this moment.

(Trust was my verb for last week. I am late for my own deadline, as usual.)