It's the typical melancholy kinda Sunday evening.
Sunday evenings are always hard for me.
Before Mama got sick, she made breakfast every Sunday night after church.
We didn't have to wait for her to ask.
The kids said, "We're going to Nanny's."
And we did.
After she was admitted to the nursing home,
every Sunday evening I did a smaller version of what she did.
Yes, Daddy learned to like the frozen biscuits just as well
with of course, cane syrup.
As his diabetes got out of control and I began to monitor his blood sugar,
I would often hide the syrup and say I had forgotten to buy it.
In the end, when he was so grief-stricken that he could hardly eat,
I'd get out the syrup.
Remember Mary Poppin's, "Just a spoonful of sugar makes the medicine go down."
...And the sugar go up!
I attended a memorial service today
given by Hospice Advantage
to celebrate the life of those loved and lost.
It was beautiful!
Grief is personal.
I loved how the Chaplain acknowledged pain.
He said he had known a lady who grieved the loss of her mother for 9 years.
In the Lord, she found healing.
He in no way, minimized her years of pain.
He simply said that it is okay to grieve
and healing would come.
I went to hear a friend sing, "No More Night."
I was comforted and encouraged beyond words.
I told someone the other day, "It's been two years. I should be over my grief."
He said, "Who says?"
Yeah, "Who says?"
I don't want my grief to define me,
but I don't want to ever forget the pain either.
I hope that I am forever changed by my loss.
I hope that because I have been comforted, I can in turn comfort others.