Deep Thoughts on a Monday Morning

The sun is out. I don't know how long it will last but the glimpse of blue I see through my window buoys me up in a way all the chocolate in the world can't. June is a bittersweet month for me--so many endings. As much as I may try, my year isn't January to January, it is June to June. Consequently, when school closes, people pack up and move, youth I taught don graduation gowns, suitcases organized and winter clothes folded and placed in the top of the closet, my year ends. I said good-bye to my friend Nancy yesterday. She's been posted to Rwanda. I plan on visiting her in Africa. I can't imagine not seeing her again. Two of my grandparents passed away in June. My Granddaddy Clayton died after many months coping with bone cancer. My Grandma Jay died due to complications in hip replacement surgery. One of my favorite sisters-in-law, who had terminal ovarian cancer, passed away the last week of school two years ago. When I think of summer green grass and children playing in the yard, sometimes I see them in their floral dresses and bare feet playing tag while the exhausted adults recover after funeral services are over. My brother died June 11 2002. I can't remember if I attended RS last Sunday, but I can remember the way the morning light came through the window when I picked up the phone to hear the news. Yesterday I heard that another big sister lost a younger brother. I wish I could say something wise that would make sense of her loss because I've heard every cliche, felt every emotion. I'm confident her brother is fine--it is the aftermath the living experience when a young person dies unexpectedly that no one can prepare you for. Before I was a wife and mother, I was a daughter and sister. Losing a connection to your past, to your most fundamental identity, forces you to see the world through different lenses. There is no way out but through. Sometimes there are no answers. Sometimes there is comfort, reassurance and relief; sometimes it is anger, resentment and loneliness. You reach a place where the hole in your heart heals and you move through the day without 20 things reminding you of him. You pass the anniversary of his death without dwelling too deeply on the event. And then you have a day like today when you learn that another big sister has lost her younger brother. I wish I could give her a hug and tell her I get it. Because I do.