At this time of year, I find the "light in my attic" shining into some of its darker, dustier corners. It seems not all that long ago my life was downsized from a large home full of the collections of people and pets, marriage, family and life ... what remained was placed into a few small memory boxes, soon thereafter to travel on a moving van northward, as new chapters in my life began ...
"We must let go of the life we have planned,
so as to accept the one that is waiting for us."
In my head-and-heart I tucked away the rest. Over time, there has been a startling realization about grief. It may ease, it does not leave. What often hurts, what is sad ~ and I now tell myself this, so I will remember it with care and concern for others who live with loss ~ there is the time that arrives when no one else goes up to the attic anymore, no one else turns a light on up there, pushes aside the cobwebs, dusts away the dust ... With the passage of time, the listening ears for your grief move on. I guess that's OK, life does move on, for all of us. But right now, for me, memories are sharp, clear, they are not years-ago memories. They are last week, they are yesterday ...
"Let's do a photo of us with Mags and Zoey" he says.
"OK" I respond, "and then maybe we can even put in on a Christmas card if I Photoshop some Santa hats on it!"
Of course, if we actually thought the photo would turn out decently, we might have dressed a little bit better . . .
And of course, had I known it would be the last photo of us, together with the kitties . . .
And of course, had I known it would be our last Christmas together . . .
The Cat On My Head Sunday Selfie Blog Hop