Today was hotter than “two mice making love in a wool sock!” Sat out a while in the porch swing watching the songbirds enjoying their morning on the bird feeders. Father Sky did well with his sky canvas, sketching a dark cerulean summer sky, cloudless and clear. Cerulean blue is considered the perfect sky-blue hue, first used as a color name in 1590.

Went back out to the porch after supper to watch the sunset from my perch in the swing. A gentle rain was falling, the silver sprinkles cooling the dusk. The porch was so pleasant. Hadn’t been in the swing very long when a thunderstorm with lightning and thunder blew up quickly and ran me in the house. The winds were banging out storm tunes on the wind chimes when I picked up Penelope and came inside. Kat darted in and sat under a living room chair waiting to be taken back outside. She’s not afraid of storms, just sits by the front door under the rocking chair till the storms pass.

I know you readers are tired of me writing about my grief, but I have to express myself. My writings always pour out and I can’t control them or change the topics. I pondered on Rosie and Chief and how their deaths have affected my life as I sat quietly in the swing this morning. I was imaging Chief sitting in the double rocking chair and Rosie in the other swing with her children, still at the toddler age, chubby cherubs with blond hair and blue eyes. People always kidded us about Rosie being blond and blue eyed contrasted with our boys’ dark hair and dark eyes. My heart opened with a deep sadness and I had a good cry.

Been thinking about all the children killed in the Texas flood, too. I’ve prayed for the children’s parents every night. When you lose a child it’s like your heart has been sliced open and a piece has been carved off. You try to repair the wound but there is always a leak of deep sadness that comes to the surface and chokes off your breath. You can’t deny it and you can’t stop the wave of despair that washes over you. It’s been 23 years since Rosie died in a car accident and the wound is just as fresh as the Sunday morning we received that terrible phone call. It seems like it just happened. The months and years following the loss of a child are emotionally, physically, and mentally exhausting and full of feelings of sorrow, despair, and emptiness.

As a mother you mourn all the things in life that were taken away by your child’s death — the loss of future hopes for your child, the grandchildren never born, all the holiday celebrations with an empty chair. You grieve for your children who have lost a sibling. Ninety-four percent of parents carry enduring grief for their child for the rest of their lives. Eventually you learn how to push the grief down and search for the rays of sunshine to light the path to daily living. The pain of a child’s death never goes away you just eventually learn in your own way and in your own time how to live with the grief, getting comfort from God’s promise of a heavenly reunion.

The death of a spouse cuts a different wound in the heart. It’s deep soulful bereavement. The worse thing about being a widow is the loss of the intimacy and passion of a loving marriage, the loss of the human touch. The loneliness and isolation that’s experienced. Even when surrounded by loving family and friends, there’s a void in life that only your spouse can fill. I know I’m fortunate to have found Chief. We had a deep abiding love and that sustains me on sad days. I know he’s sending me the beautiful cardinals to cheer me and I have millions of happy memories of Chief and Rosalyn to sustain me on my cloudy days. I love them and miss them everyday but I know I’ll be reunited with them one day and that gives me comfort.

I’m mostly content in my widowhood now and I’m thankful for my blessings of my sons and daughter-in-law, my three grandchildren, my three brothers and their families, and my friends. I know I’ve been blessed and my days seem to have found purpose in my blog writings.

My friend sent me this Chinese proverb today — “Keep a green tree in your heart and perhaps a singing bird will come,” I think that’s a beautiful thought, encouraging us to remain positive in difficult times, remembering a hopeful attitude can bring happiness and joy. Come singing birds, come.

“I want to sing like the birds sing, not worrying about who hears or what they think.” — Rumi