Two years since Jocelyn died
Weepy, but unashamed, followed by a good gaze out the window, and things to do.
Those two years since Jocelyn died went by fast, though not hurried, more like dragged, scraped along by a racing memory gripping a vein attached to our hearts. This is not bad news, nor good, just the description of relentless time being damaged as it furiously marches on. OK, so it’s mostly bad.
Then, there’s this:
She’s likely happy as a clam.
The family is still wrecked, distanced by the exhaustion of processing and dealing, as they say. Yet, a little less. Distanced also by blossoming new family structures, branched out from the two old folks who planted the tree 53 years ago. That development is all lovely. We’re marching forward rather than dragged. Dancing and singing are involved. It’s really good stuff.
I have happy days, and see happiness in each grandchild. Joanne holds onto me still. We smile at Josie/Jocelyn's memories now. Not quite as often as grief allows. Sheesh, it’s so relentless.
We treasure the hugs from Xander, which we get most weeks. God, that man is great. Judy reaches for us and holds on, and now Phil, a much-needed light in our family. Got one from Jill just weeks ago, in Denver. Twice. All the grandkids are huggers, even when they don’t really want to. You can tell they have good hugging skills, though.
Thank you, those who I see have similar pains in your eyes, who have many more years at whispy, emotional carriage. You know how to care, and we all appreciate it. None of us wants the ability to recognize deep, heavy loss, but it’s endemic. (Sorry for the “but” — poor writing, so Jenelle taught me — left it in anyway — maybe she’ll call me).
Shattered, but sturdier. Weepy, but unashamed, followed by a good gaze out the window, and things to do.
Xander gave me some 20 boxes of Jocelyn’s books to slowly go through. Five boxes have already been opened and perused, and she continues to astonish me. Anglo-Saxon Spirituality? Who knew.
I didn’t do a Christmas letter last year. This isn’t a replacement or an apology. It’s June 23.
I haven’t started talking to her. I’m thinking she’s still pretty busy getting acquainted with the unimaginable. Like when she went on a retreat or flew off to Taiwan. It’ll have to wait until I catch up to her. The Holy Spirit is talking to me about her, though. Not a report or anything. Just whimsical images. Giggles. The things I need.
God bless you.
You might think about the three things I’ve been holding onto, if you’re of a similar mind. First, Jesus is not nervous. That’s a good one to know. No matter what’s happened or is going on, Jesus is aware and locked and loaded. Second, the Holy Spirit is a big fan of Guardian Angels, as much as Jesus, actually. I didn’t know that until just recently. Third, the Father knows how to do that whole fathering thing so well. All of us, men and women, want to be so much like Jesus, but we men really want to be good fathers.
The thing about the Father is that he isn’t ashamed of us, or disappointed, or too busy. Ever. Never entered his mind. Isn’t that great?