Hello, hello. And: Hello?

It’s been forever, I know. The writing muse really just up and ran away (along with most of my sense of stability) over the course of the pandemic. Lots of other things happened too, that all added up to: too much, too much, too much.

AND: it’s September 1. I’m feeling like a school kid, ready to start the next grade now. Ready to learn, ready to share what I’ve learned. So, I’m working on a post…and looking back over some I haven’t finished.

But honestly, what I would really like to ask is: who is reading my blog, and would you consider writing to me in the comments? I see your comment first – it doesn’t show up on the blog site unless I “approve” it, so I honestly won’t publish what you write if you don’t want me to. It’s just I am so curious about YOU. How did you find my site? Is there anything here that resonates for you as a human being?

You see: I have told very few people about my blog. Why? Because not everyone wants to read about the loss of a child, about deep grief, theological turmoil and anger and someone else’s dreams…all the things I’ve gone through since Mark was hurt and died so suddenly in 2015. I made the blog “public” because the actual act of writing for/to other people (vs keeping it to myself) has helped me, somehow, to process. So I honestly don’t expect much traffic. However: WordPress – the blogging site I use – obviously thinks most bloggers are actively trying to get their stuff visible, and thus provides all sorts of tools for helping you maximize your impact, including statistics showing the number of people who have visited your site, how many posts they have collectively read, which posts are the most popular, what day/time folks most typically read your blog (Tuesdays at 8pm, apparently, is your collective sweet spot)…and I recently peeked at the stats, not expecting to see ANYTHING after not writing a thing for more than a year, so was shocked to find readers from not just here in the USA, but also as far away as Germany, Luxembourg, the Netherlands, China, Denmark, Romania, Switzerland and France! Oh: and one from Ireland! How are you? – Conas atá tú?

So, as I continue to work on my drafts, please consider saying “hi” back. I’d just really like to hear from you. (I’d insert a little heart emoji here, to end that last sentence, but I honestly don’t know how. WordPress changed their editing system and I am So. So. Confused.)

Jewish friends are remembering the Passover (the traditional remembrance of when the plague passed over the Hebrew people in the midst of their slavery in Egypt), and Christian friends are also feeling its weight and power as we now join in waiting in the dark of “Good Friday” (the remembrance of the day Jesus was crucified). Maybe you’re not religious at all, but in the midst of this global crisis: you’re still waiting. We are all waiting for this plague to pass, worrying about whether these locusts will land, observing with pain how much they have already consumed. And thus my thoughts were born, this morning.

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(I thought I had published this one. Or maybe I forgot I wrote it [believe the second thing]. Although COVID-19 has completely reshaped what we thought 2020 was going to be, perhaps this is still worth sharing).

It is New Year’s Eve 2019. Steve and I are in one of our favorite places: a good friend’s condo near the beach. We did this last year, too, and I think it will be an annual tradition if possible; having made it through the holidays, we escape to breathe, lick our wounds just a little, and rest up before Tax Season carries us off.

Like most of humanity today, I’m reflecting a bit on the year just about to exit, the side door soon to click shut behind it just as 2020 waltzes in the front, full of promise and possibility (3/31/20 note: wow…but I know a bunch of others who felt this way. And maybe this is still true, somehow). I’m not one to make resolutions because I hate failing, and I am pretty bad at predicting the future; instead, I like to try and think of what I have learned and write it down, lest I forget (and I usually do forget anyhow, because that’s how I roll #middleage). Perhaps there is something here for you, too.

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Like all of you, I am living in a state of suspended animation during the Coronavirus Pandemic of 2020. Steve and I are still working, because the Governor of VA did not extend the tax filing date for residents of this fine state (unlike the Federal government), and so we still gotta file a bunch of folks’ tax returns by May 1. But all of my emotions are in a big knot of speechless horror covered with a thick, gooey glaze of numbness. Seeing videos of a nearly empty New York City (as residents shelter-in-place) is surreal. Watching the death count rise makes me ill. This weekend Steve and I will identify a bunch of charities to give money to, while feeling a sense of inadequacy in the face of the enormity of this crisis.

Thank God for some lovely days like this one – blue blue sky, warm temps – so I can walk or bike to work and feel more balanced.

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I went for a walk with another bereaved mom over the summer. I don’t know her well – our husbands know one another professionally. I do not recall exactly how we found out their eldest son, a young adult, was killed, but it is the grief connection – that gritty, real-life element we have in common – which eventually led to our meeting a couple of years ago. And then this walk together on a Saturday morning.

As with any new acquaintance and those first few encounters between you, you are aware of being on uncertain ground as you ask questions, share stories. The fact that we have both lost children, we like to exercise, we are both reasonably active and engaged people — those give us a bond, and yet: are we otherwise similar enough (or open enough) that we want – or need? – to be closer friends? What is it that she needs from me, from other humans, especially right now? What is it that I need?

And why do you always feel, somewhere deep down inside, like that little 9 (or maybe 13…15…18) year old that was you – brand new to a class, a school, a neighborhood, a situation – and trying to figure out the ropes? 

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No temptation has overtaken you except what is common to mankind. And God is faithful; he will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear. But when you are tempted, he will also provide a way out so that you can endure it.                 1 Corinthians 10:13(NIV)

I recently heard about this book, “More Than You Can Handle: When Life’s Overwhelming Pain Meets God’s Overwhelming Grace” by Nate Pyle.  The author – a pastor – and his wife struggled with infertility, an ectopic pregnancy that had to be ended, a plunge into mental anguish/anxiety, job loss, a messed-up adoption process…and he has counseled numerous parishioners through their own hells. As I scrolled through the Amazon listing and good reviews, I thought, “Well. That’s a lot of reality. And, I am detecting zero rainbow-hued platitudes, no scriptural syrup! That means: I have to buy it!” Poor Steve. We use his Amazon Prime account for all our ordering, so he gets emails every time I buy something and every time its shipped. Between shoes, books, shoes getting returned, cat-pee treatments, more books, bird seed, cat calming treats, cat pheromone diffusers…and my inability to place orders for MULTIPLE things, vs. one thing each time it occurs to me (!) …I’m amazed he gets any work done.

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Perhaps that title – Fine Lines – is a great tag line for women “of a certain age” (except mine are approaching “deep, cratered groove” status), but as I sit here in Sanibel*, avoiding the midday sun, what I am intending to tackle is that space between what is very good, and what can be unhelpful or misguided. The line between is, in fact, often quite thin.

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Written in April…I was going to share this to Facebook, but chickened out.

It’s the season of Lent, when churchy people often either take on or give up something in order to draw closer to God. I’ve decided I’m going to give up acting Like I’ve Got My Sh*t Together, and just be real about my life right now.

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I know, I know. It may be February now, but you are humming right along with me. “Decorations of red, on a green Christmas tree…won’t be the same, dear, if you’re not here with me…”

I’d never heard of a “Blue Christmas” (or “Comfort”) service before the middle of last December: it’s a church service for those experiencing grief, a sense of loss during the holidays. But now I have added it to my list of “New Experiences I Never Wanted to Have, and Yet It Did Something Good.”

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