When Loss is Real–or Not

I’m better this morning. Last night I hid in the bathroom for a few moments where I flushed the toilet (so the husband and the grandgirl wouldn’t ask what was going on with me.) I blew my nose, popped my contacts, rubbed my eyes hard, and ran cold water over my face. I didn’t want to explain why I was overwhelmed over something on my computer other than this video. Maybe it’s because I’ll leave for Haiti in less than four weeks. (I might even get to meet Samedy. I hope not. I hope he’s in Nashville by then. Please pray.) Maybe it’s because I’m watching a fund fueled in record time–a fund that will build a school for hope–by Christmas. Or that I’m wearing a necklace purchased because of a...

Of Bunions and Bubble Wrap

Electric blue gleams when I pull down the green box door. It’s addressed to me. What on earth? I recognize the return label. I know her own heart has been aching lately, and she thinks of me? Again? I think about doing things like this. But my hands don’t always follow my head or my heart. “You know,” she writes, “some days just call for warm socks and chocolate, and I thought this might just be one of these days.” She’s so right. I’ve been thinking about this grumpy grief thing. And how I’ve kind of been living grief upon grief of one sort or another for years. I stare at the envelope design and note how seven circles seem to make a flower and how all the flowers connect to make the whole. I stroke the...