A Warm Center

Read the post immediately preceding this one to get Janelle's good overview of the past few days, which have been meaningful for our family (this does not imply pure enjoyment, but rather a density of importance).

I've been spending my day making progress on a pair of tables for our kitchen and dining room. As working alone is my best way of processing life's events, I was also making internal progress. At the CJP service for Nora and our family, I was in the same kind of space I usually am in public social settings: taking it all in. I also had many occasions to express thanks...so many CJP people have been so supportive to us. But I write now with the feeling that the thanks I was able to offer on the spot was insufficient to express what I intend towards those members of the CJP circle. I feel grateful towards each person who contributed to the service itself, who knew the love and the loss of Nora with us and crafted their own expression of that love and loss, or acknowledgment of ours. I love and savor silence and darkness, and find that even the silence and darkness that signify Nora's absence are not enemies of my happiness. However, they can be painful spaces to be in. What keeps the associated pain from becoming overwhelming are the caring voices that enter the silence from time to time, and the lights shining in. This has been our experience all along the way, and we know how fortunate we have been. It was so comforting to have Mert's exceptional stained glass creation to bring home with us as a symbol of the CJP community's caring and good will. (Truly, the photos do the piece no justice. You must see it in person to appreciate it and understand the care, time, and skill that went into it. One of my life goals is to not gush. That's the only reason I'm not). I'll carry these feelings around with me for a while; they warm me from the inside.

I have often, through the years, found reasons for enthusiasm concerning Janelle's employment at CJP. The Center has its systemic flaws, just like any other. But there is a goodness in its middle that, like the flame represented in stained glass, draws people together, and draws the warmth and goodness from those people. I feel privileged in a big way to be included and welcomed in that community.

Tomorrow Janelle and I leave for UVA to participate in a Pediatric Palliative Care retreat (focused on improving care for children with life-threatening illness). Due to the structure of the retreat, there is no way to materially prepare for our participatory responsibilities. Perhaps this is a blessing in disguise, since it causes me to remain aware of an alternate form of preparation: preparing our hearts and minds for openness in the presence of pain. Living with Nora and living through her death instructed us in that discipline, but can we bear the lessons on into this time, and into our living? We can hope!