When Bumblebees Sleep

Early morning.

The temperature is cool.

There is dew on the grass.

There they are.

Tucked underneath the raspberry leaves.

They are asleep. It is too early.

Even for them.

I try not to wake them

As I pick my morning breakfast.

They do not move.

Even as I lift the canes.

They huddle together. Waiting.

For the warmth of the sun.

I find comfort in these friends.

Unexpected companions in my quiet.

If you enjoy my blog and would like to follow me on Facebook, I can be found at The Reluctant Survivor.

Finding Joy

Used with permission from David Loose

I cried when I learned there was nothing more the doctors could do.

There were no tears when I heard of your death.

Grief is like that.

It is the living in the hard places.

The desperate wish that things would be different.

You asked if you could call me.

My heart sank when you told me the news.

There were tears when I told my husband.

The grief started then.

All those months ago.

There is always hope.

But I knew differently.

I never want to be that person.

The one who insisted “you’ve got this beat.”

Because life is not like that.

Life is messy.

It caught me off guard.

And hurts in the deepest part of my soul.

Until I remember more of the good times together

Than the past few, painful months.

That is when I find joy.

If you enjoy my blog and would like to follow me on Facebook, I can be found at The Reluctant Survivor. And on Twitter @relucsurvivor.

Dear Mom

Dear Mom,

You are into your eighth decade now. You walk a bit slower. You are involved in fewer activities. Your pace. Your pace has slowed. As a result, you need a little more help. Some things are not as easy as they used to be. There are aches and pains that limit your mobility and make it difficult to do routine tasks. Time moves faster and it’s difficult to keep up. To stay on track.

However, none of these things diminish who you are. As I reflect on my time with you I am comforted by how truly blessed I am that you are my mother. My brother is the lucky one. He has three more years with you than I do. And my sister is the privileged one. She gets to spend time with you every week. But when I think of all the gifts you have given us over these 50 plus years there is not enough paper to capture them all.

First, and foremost, you gave us life. Thinking of our childhood, you taught us to play. To imagine. We didn’t play “cowboys and Indians.” We played “Indians.” We ran around outside in bare feet. We swam in rivers, the ocean, the ponds. We danced in the rain, and marveled at thunder storms. We collected strays and had our very own “Gentleman’s Farm” with various animals and a garden. Summer evenings were spent popping snap dragons and collecting fireflies. Winters included building snow forts and drinking hot chocolate.

We grew up. I’m sure our teenage years were a challenge. Yet you let us explore. There was music. And drama. And books. We traveled. We tested our boundaries always knowing there was a safe haven at home where you and daddy would catch us when we fell.

Do you know how much we love you?

If you enjoy my blog and would like to follow me on Facebook, I can be found at The Reluctant Survivor. And on Twitter @relucsurvivor.