There Is Always Hope

It is a little hard to believe that today is November 3 and there are still leaves clinging to the trees. It is true that most of them have (at last) changed color, but they are still there, stubbornly refusing to let go even at the furious pull of the stiff November winds. It is such a beautiful thing, watching those few leaves that have given up the fight and let go, as they skip through the air proudly displaying the full glory of their brilliant colors of red and gold.

If my father were still alive we would spend a good few hours talking about the weather, speculating what the odd behavior could mean. I miss those talks. It was never really about whatever subject we were discussing; we could spend hours talking about nothing. It was about the moment, the time that we were sharing. I am so grateful to be able to wrap myself in the warm glow of those memories. With no real effort I can hear his laughter, see the twinkle in his eyes, and feel the warmth of his calloused hand on my shoulder. He has been gone 2 years and 10 months (on the 9th) now and I do not believe I will ever stop mourning him. Alcoholic or whatever label the world would place on him, he was the brightest and best part of me. If it was not for Don (and I prostrate myself in humble submission to God in thanks for him) I believe I could just crawl into some dark place and lay there to wait for death.

I apologize; I had not intended this to be a morbid post. I guess I am grieving a little more than usual today. Two true loves in my life, my father and my husband, they also happen to be the only people on this earth that I ever felt truly comfortable with. It is a challenge for me, not to be overly protective and paranoid when it comes to Don. He is all that remains of my world. I have a terrible fear of making the same mistake with Don that I made with my father. Daddy was sick for many years before he died and it is excruciatingly difficult to make this confession; I started mourning his loss long before he died. Fat lot of good that did, I missed valuable time with him because I so dreaded the thought of his death that it was easier to let him go (in my heart) and get it over with than it was to drag out the unbearable thought of his future demise. I pray I never do that with Don. Every moment counts, a lesson learned the hard way and one that taught me that there is always hope.

A dark subject indeed, for such a beautiful golden autumn afternoon, albeit one that I must have needed to broach. Ah, well, I feel better for it, at least there is that. Thank you for taking the time to share my grief. Before you go, please do not forget to take a moment and revel in the joy that is living.

There is always hope.

Betty