Am home. Last night. Yesterday about five caught Marvin Window’s small corporate plane (our son works for them) down to Minneapolis. Stared out the window at the frozen lakes, hundreds, thousands of them as we flew low through the waning day. Post funeral. Post family. Post so many people and cups of Folgers. Post helping write thankyous for memorial gifts. Post staring out Mom’s living room windows across empty fields and pastures.
We drove home. Me talking nonstop. Like I was drugged, flying high. Telling everything that happened from the time he left on Friday morning. Couldn’t stop. Couldn’t edit.
How good is it to have someone who tolerates rough drafts? Or who brings you what you crave when you’re too tired to get it yourself?
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2 comments:
You are awfully dear to many of us, Margie. Birth, life, death-- all are complex, full of deep emotions that we know and don't know. Just thinking about you and the week that has passed makes me sigh.... even as I understand the grace of someone who listens and loves. So a smile too-- and thanks be to God for Denis.
Steve, my fellow pilgrim, your love is dear to me. Such grace to share life with you - its many sorrows and joys over the years.
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