 I've written and deleted many words in the last several hours trying to capture how I feel "twelve years later." The twelfth anniversary (somehow I don't feel the word anniversary should be associated with sad events-but there it is) of when Larry left our house for the last time. The words I've written and rejected don't do justice to the excruciating moment when Larry died, nor do they capture what has transpired in my life in the succeeding years. They seemed trite and redundant. But this image does for me what my words cannot. It is a photograph I took in Maine last summer. I knew then as I know now that its meaning was epic for me--which was I have been able to let the light back into my life. I've shrugged off the dark clouds which I thought would shroud me forever. The image also echoes my belief (possibly childlike) that I believe Larry is in the clouds--along with others who went before and after him, and that they swirl happily together in a blessed firmament. The shooting rays of sun struck me as a sign of hope and confirmation that life goes on--that in fact it is possible to "welcome life after loss." I will light a candle tonight in memory of Larry, I will silently toast the life we shared together and I will pause to be grateful for those who love me and have shared my journey. |
 |
|||||||||||||
 
|
|
 |
|||||||||||
    |
|||||||||||||
