When my first grandchild, Claire, was born, my heart was full of so many strong emotions that it took a few weeks to parse out and understand them all. I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to share her with others. Then when I saw her other grandmother holding her and gushing all those same … Continue reading Crying in an Elevator Holding a Tiny Jesus
His presence has been active (felt) this month—March, in which he was born and his daughter was born and he died—more than previous years.
After reading the news, and having a good cry, I thought about how Internet friends can be some of the best friends ever.
"Do we ever truly let go of the people with whom we’ve been intimate on some level? Doesn’t a part of them live on inside us forever?"
Smokey was sneaky. Houdini-like. He was born under a “wand’rin’ star, or as Jim liked to say, he paddled his own canoe.
"His death is a part of our story, and like any good story, it never ends."
"Don’t forget to do nice things for yourself. There’s beauty in giving, and nothing says we can’t also be the receiver."
I can’t say, “Has it been forty years already?” because when someone you love dies, even a day without them is a lifetime.
Grief is a big part of my life, yes, but so is love, and to me, that corner represents love.
In the face of anyone or anything’s suffering, may I never be someone who says, “It was just a deer.”
Lynn Haraldson, Author and Writing Mentor 