Morning Mourning

At 3 am the night is silent, the tree frogs and crickets presumably asleep.  The quiet so thick it feels like a heavy blanket wrapped tightly around me.  I lay awake thinking until sleep comes again and dawn awakens.

She always comes late.   Shadows tall and thick enshroud our home as a thicket of trees and a hill block the rising sun.   First a slight glow between the dense foliage than a slight golden glow upon the horizon line of the undulating prairie to the the south .  It is 9 am now and still our home is in shadow.  It makes it hard to get up early. 

Mark is usually first up and I hear the loud squeak of our 1930's art deco glass door that leads to the toilet.  Later a loud bang of the door  signals his departure.  The old door's spring doesn't work anymore and it always slams shut.  I sometimes wonder why it doesn't break under such force.

I hear the sound of running water and the whir of the coffee grinder.  Soon, the pungent, rich smell of french roast coffee fills the air.  I roll over under the blankets trying to rouse myself awake.  Coffee is coming.

Everyday he brings me coffee in bed.  I sip, I read, I write nonsense such as this in my journal.  It's our morning routine and routines help when you are struggling along an unknown trail.

I've been surprised at the sorrow that shows up unexpectedly since my mom's and uncle's death.  Here it comes one day and then, maybe, gone the next.  I don't know how to plan ahead, so I just trip along grabbing onto routines like a handy guardrail.  I stop a lot too, to pause and notice the new territory.  I keep notes, as I know I will sometime exit and will want to be able to help others who pass this way.

I realize I've never before understood grief.  Sure,  I've felt sad before over death.  I've cried, but it was more controllable.  This new place is not as easy to negotiate with and it makes me uneasy.   (Sort of like our government right now).  If I can get so tripped up by the death of my parents and uncle, what would happen if my children died or -heaven forbid- Mark?  I'd have to get my coffee, that's for sure.  Seriously though, death scares me now.  Not so much for the one who dies, but for me, left behind. 

I see Death's shadow everywhere.  It falls on you too.  For everything must die and when I see that shadow I feel a bit of the pain that this future parting might bring. Ouch.  Macabre.

I just hope this new awareness helps me love better.  Live better too.  Right now the jury is still out, but I have faith that the outcome will be positive, for He works all things out for good for those who believe.