Last week I bought a travel bag, just right for my trip to the hospital soon. Then I thought it would make a good carry on bag when I fly to my daughter's new home down in Texas. But those plans were before a telephone call telling me someone I knew, who suffered long from MS had died.

I pulled the dark dress from my closet, and gently folded it, though it's great for travel. Running my hands across it was not for smoothing wrinkles. The last time I wore it was at my son's funeral. And now I was headed to one where a man's life was shortened by an insidious disease, and/or the complications of it.

A son who was going came by for me, and soon we headed across a prairie stretching a long way from Denver. A few hours later we were there, and would spend a night or two with my childrens' father, the man who had been my husband, and a long time ago, my world. Feelings ranged up and down the scale.

Remembering my son's awful death, and being with someone who had been such a huge chunk of my life, encouraged memories I did not quite know what to do with. But this trip wasn't about either of us, or our memories. At one point it was a little like in his Indian ancestery, with each of us giving thoughtful gifts to the other. He is long retired, and very happy with how his life is, with the dying man's family claiming him as their own, and he has full run of a golf course with unlimited golfing. When Saint Peter calls for him, I can just imagine his insisting he has to finish however many more holes need playing.

The funeral showed what a fine man had died, with many tear soaked accolades given about him. In Denver it is not unusual for the mourners to not go to the grave site, so I didn't think about taking a jacket or a coat, and it got very windy and cold, and after we all huddled under a canopy that seemed to sway a little, the funeral home people shoved warm blankets into our arms. Big cities and towns move more quickly than quiet country places, but it was good to go back in time where they don't hurry dying or living.

It is always good to return to your own little part of this big world, though I'm not in a hurry for some of what lies ahead. Last week I began sorting and
rearranging personal papers. Started, then set it down, where it reminds me every day, I need to finish.

While Christmas shopping I found a good buy on a Yoga pad. I intended getting started with it again, but the box with the pad is near the TV, still unopened.

This week there will be a pre-op appointment. I know it is necessary, but I'm dreading not being mobile for a while. My son and grandson will do whatever I need. While I was gone they washed my car, even cleaned the inside, and when we get snow, one of them clears off the car, and all my walkways.

That book I wrote about in my last post, Melody Beattie's "The Language of Letting GO" is really coming in handy. Reminds me I don't need a certified guarantee that everything will be like I want it, and how and when, and where, and so I think I'll sort those old papers, and prepare a few things here, put gas in the car, buy some coffe and maybe write more posts. I got some old movies at the thrift store. It is fun sometimes to see them again, and at a dollar a piece, what a deal. I can take care of those details, but the big stuff, I'll leave to my Lord.

Please pray for the family of the man who died. His going leaves big holes in their lives, and it's gonna take some time to fill them.


Because he asked, we stayed an extra night, and enjoyed a terrific steak dinner with him, then hurried so he could watch a favorite religious program. Such a contrast to how our life was so long ago, but that was then, and here we are, still trying to figure out what to do, and where to go.