A Day

It’s Monday night. Time to think of a Slice, or fix up and publish something I’ve been working on. I wait all day for the story to come, the Slice to form in my mind. It never came.

Last week, I wrote about my Uncle John and the hope of being able to let him know he mattered as he lay struggling to hang onto life after falling victim to Covid. We lost him the next day. How much life can change in one week. In the week that has passed, I’ve consoled my broken Grandmother, acted as my mom’s writing partner as she worked to write a Eulogy that captured the life of her brother, and held my family close-trying to love them harder. This week, I haven’t taken for granted waking up and I’ve been extra aware of the air entering and exiting my lungs.

As I sat down to write tonight, my girls were all working on something at the kitchen table. “What would you write for a slice of life today?” I asked them-feeling kind of desperate.

Adi’s (age 6) response:

“The funeral…

We were at church.

Everyone was a little bit sad.

So, we went to Grandma’s and had a nice lunch.”

Wren’s response (age 8):

We walked into the church and took seats in the front row.

My family sat with me. The music started playing. The priest stood on the altar and started talking.

We were at a funeral.

I started to cry. Next to me, there was a box with my Uncle John inside.

Everyone was sad and started crying as the priest was talking. When the music started playing again, everyone stood.

Before I knew it, it was time for Daddy to speak. He was also sad. He said some words that my Mimi wrote a few days before. I looked behind me and I saw family members that are also sad. I feel a little more comfortable, because I know I am not the only one.

Daddy comes down and sits back in his seat with Grandma. The priest talks some more and then it is time to go.

Me and my family are the first to leave. We cry on our way out because we are sad. We grab some sea glass at the exit because that is a special part of our uncle that we did not lose.

Now, forever, we will treasure the sea glass he found and always remember that Uncle John lived a good life.

My brain isn’t quite ready to process this day, these past few weeks, the last nine months. Thank you to my girls for sharing their words and their love. They’re slight obliviousness has brought some much needed joy to our family in the last week.

10 thoughts on “A Day

  1. Such a tender moment – you leaning on your girls – in the midst of the sadness. Sometimes the word sad really is a just right word. Know that many are holding you and your family close and sending them extra love. xoxo

    Liked by 1 person

  2. So sorry to hear this. Sadly, I have a sense of what you’re feeling. This is a rough road we’re traveling right now. I’ve found myself doing the same thing, breathing very consciously…also not knowing how to write. Your kids did well.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. I am so very sorry for your loss. I know that for many, 2021 brings forth the possibility that things could get better. But for you, your family, and so many others, there is still so much pain and loss. Thank you for the courage it took to share this with all of us. As the writer before me said, stories will be a wonderful way to keep your uncle alive, yes. But in moments like you are living through right now, it is so hard. Take good care, and I will keep your family in my thoughts and prayers.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. If anyone can find a sliver a joy, it’s you. Those precious girls, they are writers down to their core. I grieve for your loss. They seem to surround us. Ow. Turn your face to the sun and find the treasure just like that sea glass.

    Liked by 1 person

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