Just Like Dickens Said

These last few weeks have been just like what Dickens said-

It was the best of times-

Seeing Van Morrison and his band perform at the Greek Theater, they are world class musicians who still have the heart of an Irish pub band.

Going to our oldest son's Fall Concert where he had multiple singing solos and performed in the Dance Ensemble.

Listening to our youngest son beamingly tell us that his Art teacher said he is "an A+ student".

It was the worst of times-

Having a patient attempt suicide and supporting her in picking up the pieces.

Learning of the suicide of a sibling of a dear friend from high school.

Going to the funeral for the Grandmother of our youngest son's best friend.



It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to heaven, we were all going direct the other way - in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only. Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities
English novelist (1812 - 1870)

Grief Season/ Postcard to the Edge

While I was growing up, Thanksgiving was a favorite, most warm, and enjoyable holiday for my family. My mother put out a delicious spread of food, we used our fine china, damask linens, and depression glass serving ware, and we sang our Grace before the meal. (Actually my mother sang the song, "We Gather Together", the rest of us just kind of mouthed or hummed along.) I have many happy memories of those times together which I cherish.

For the last 25 years, a veil of sadness comes over me this time of year. This Thanksgiving, it is the 25th anniversary of my older brother's Jim's death at the age of 24 years. We were very close in age and in kindred spirit. He was my rock, my play, my guide, my friend. So now, he's been gone longer than he was here. This feeling of grief and longing for him to be with us, celebrating with his own family, weighs heavy on my heart and spirit. The sadness comes unbidden on these anniversaries, it's like a force of nature, outside of myself.

I want to send him a postcard-

I miss you, Jimmy.
I am good, living the life we always wanted and talked about when we were little, with a loving family and home to call our own. I remember you wanted to name your children, Brian and Ann, such lovely names. You would love my boys and my husband too and they would love you so, so much. I still have the matchbox cars we played with as children, they are among my most prized possessions. Your prism is next to my desk and when it casts rainbows, I feel you close to me.

I miss you, Jim, I always will. Thank you for the love we shared, I know my grief is the price I pay for all the joy and love you gave me.

Martha