Feather and Ash

For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven:  a time to be born, and a time to die;  a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted;  a time to kill, and a time to heal;  a time to break down, and a time to build up;  a time to weep, and a time to laugh;  a time to mourn, and a time to dance;  a time to throw away stones, and a time to gather stones together;  a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;  a time to seek, and a time to lose;  a time to keep, and a time to throw away;  a time to tear, and a time to sew;  a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;  a time to love, and a time to hate;  a time for war, and a time for peace. Ecclesiastes 3:1-8 The beautiful parity of these verses have long made them a standard. Even people who don’t know anything about the Bible or consider themselves particularly well versed in spiritual things would probably recognize them, or at least a few of the lines. There have been songs written,

2024. This will be the first year since 1996 that Jonah will not be physically in my life. I have lived more years with him beside me than without, and now the clock starts over. The counting of the years starts again. And it’s painful. Painful to think of it as counting the days since I last saw him. Last kissed his forehead. Last felt his bear hug. Last caught the glimmer in his wry expression. Last heard his laughter ring out. Last. All the lasts.  There are just too many and they keep rising from my memory and confronting me with the truth they were, in fact, the last. Each one a dagger. Each one a diamond. Each one, now a beautiful wound. The truth about being a mother is that from the moment you attune to that flicker of spirit inside you, you carry these children on your shoulders as welcome weight. Grateful to carry the burden of a new life, the purpose of nurturing a legacy, a home for your whole heart to nourish.  The first days, the lift is exhausting. There is a toll on you