‘Til Death…and After

Not even a bird could be heard in pre-dawn mist

The quiet hours can be overwhelming. When one finds the way outdoors, at times when no other human guests are likely to be encountered, there is no shortage of wonders to be found in such silent vistas. Nor is there any way around confronting the unadorned absences of those who should be here with us.

There’s nothing quite like watching the sun emerge above a sea of clouds, or disappear underneath the horizon at sundown, to underscore the thin and immeasurable wordless space between heaven and earth.

I’ve been alone to see such moments–before dawn and after dusk–in some of the planet’s most densely-populated cities, and some of its emptiest places.

It’s been quite some time since I’ve been able to regularly appear on these pages. I’m still not able to explain what’s caused me to be-for far longer than I could have imagined-uncharacteristically hushed about major portions of my last several years.

But such enforced silenced swaths have left me enough space to share my very present past, packed today with the quiet hours in which I still celebrate the July marriage that brought me everywhere I’ve been since leaving home for school. Not only to the earthbound places my husband and I were lucky enough to share, but all the places to which his loss indirectly has brought me.

On each such anniversary, I’m astounded anew that he hasn’t aged alongside me. It stunned me when, during one of these quiet hours, I first realized I’d not only caught up with, but already somehow lived beyond the age he’d reached at his death. It was more crushing when I realized one of our children had lived more than half a young lifetime without him.

But in quiet hours at timeless vistas and ancient places, I can sometimes spare my aggrieved self the focus on earthly years. I allow myself to see the enduring forever.

Pre-dawn in Udaipur, Rajasthan

Even when the colors fizzle, or are overwhelmed by fog, there are treasures in the near-silent spaces of the endless quiet hours.

Happy Anniversary.

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Author: Stephanie

In her spare time, Stephanie has published articles and delivered talks in arcane fields like forensic evidentiary issues, statistical presentations of human and canine DNA testing, jury instructions, and expert scientific witness preparation. She attended law school near the the banks of the Charles River and loves that dirty water; she will always think of Boston as her home. You are welcome to take a look at her Facebook author page, or follow @SMartinGlennon on Twitter and @schnitzelpond on Instagram. Bonus points for anyone who understands the Instagram handle. All content on this blog, unless otherwise attributed, is (c) 2012-2023 by Stephanie M. Glennon and should not be reproduced (in any form other than re-blogging in accordance with the wee Wordpress buttons at the bottom of each post) without the express permission of the domain holder.

24 thoughts on “‘Til Death…and After”

  1. So good to see you here again and with this piece that reminds me so beautifully that the love remains through time and space.

    And what places you’ve been! Sending hugs. Tricia

  2. Happy Anniversary to you Stephanie. The photos are wonderful particularly the cranes nest.

    Let’s get together soon.

    Love,

    Joanie

  3. Welcome back Stephanie, you’ve been missed. As always your words reach directly into the heart and somehow one can recognize both your strength and the love you continue to recognize and honor. Thank you for sharing your thoughts and your always-beautiful images. The closing is amazing.

    1. This time I’m hoping to really be back (post to follow later today, I hope), and thank you for sticking with me. That last deep blue morning shot is a particular treasure, up before dawn on a tiny island and watching the world awaken as it had for centuries upon centuries.

    1. Thank you–I really appreciate your continuing to come by with all the long lapses. I’m hoping as of today I’m going to be able to write way more freely and fill in some missing pieces.

  4. Your words resonate deeply with the experience of love and loss. The way you capture both the weight of absence and the silent strength found in nature’s quiet moments is moving. Thank you for sharing your journey and for reminding us that love endures, shaping the spaces between what was and what still is. Wishing you peace ~ 🙏🏻

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