On this Friday evening

{repost from 10/2021}

I know it’s Friday evening but the evening is when I like to write. So, hopefully everyone else is out living it up (or in living it up) and I’m the only one on these little squares. But if I wait until the morning nothing I want to say makes sense anymore so I’ve just learned to roll with it.

Fridays are my day to “get stuff done.” Kids are independent with school work. I run errands, do my own appointments, get groceries, go to the cemetery. The usual.

Speaking of cemeteries, everyone carries a cemetery bucket in the back of their, right? Oh, never mind then.

Speaking of cemeteries, everyone gets a little bit nervous as they pull up to the grave of their spouse, right? Oh, OK, just me? I’ll tell you why, then.

I get nervous because it’s often a chunk of time between when I can get to his grave. I’ll place flowers, clean things up, and then a few weeks will go by before I go back again. But in the mean time I’m always wondering, “who’s there and what will they think if there are dead flowers? Will they think I don’t love him anymore? Will they think I’ve forgotten?”

And then I exhale and reset his now earthly home, and I feel whatever I’m feeling that day, and then I exhale again and walk to my car. And I can breath knowing his grave looks beautiful again and then I can get nervous as time ticks on.

And I go get groceries and I walk around the store with my soul that feels like shattered glass. Always carrying shattered glass. I spent so long making sure it never cut me and now I’m saying “eff it” and letting it scourge just so I can live again.

And then I pull into the driveway and sit. And remember I have his clothes in the trunk to donate and I read a quote from Padre Pio saying my tears were collected by the angels and placed in a golden chalice and I remember writing the same thing months ago and I’m no saint but it’s comforting to know a saint felt the same way.

And then I walk inside and all I want is to drown my life in a chalice of something other than tears but I say, “be patient…your shattered glass will soon be the window in the masterpiece that is God’s will.”

And I have strength for another evening.

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