Oops; I’ve done it again. I am trying to sort it out, having discovered my post reverted to its earliest draft again. As a person who is never satisfied before a 25th-ish draft, I am trying again….Meanwhile, I am familiarizing myself with the “Save” button and the external hard drive.
Someone I loved once gave me
a box full of darkness.
It took me years to understand
that this, too, was a gift.
On that March 4th I first sat down with “Rev,” and he in turn introduced me to the poet Mary Oliver.
The context was beyond bittersweet. We were discussing what Jim called his “Closing Ceremonies.” He had urged me to leave his hospital room to discuss whether we could gather at this church, on our daughters’ campus.
The Reverend asked me, as sonorously and gently as any person could, how long I though there might be.
I told him I thought my husband would hang on to see our eldest son graduate that spring.
It turned out I was uncharacteristically optimistic, and had given off, by two months to the day.
It would be only two weeks until Jim came home for the last time.
On that…
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