Just past midnight this morning, a new little life came into this world - and they call her Miley. No, not that former Disney-show singer. This dear girl is the daughter of one of my travel companions in Italy last year. In the thank-you card for the above baby shower gifts, she wrote: "It was so nice to see your sunshine again!
And justthatfast, my life is better. Sunshine from friends to light my way!
I have to remember to share my sunshine more often.
There have been such dark clouds of late.
Just this week, I attended the third funeral of less than a month's time. My outlaw Bunny's father-in-law, Guerry, had died on Friday of last week. For love of Bunny and Steve, I attended the funeral, though I had missed the visitation. I'm glad I was there, as it meant so much to them that I came from Savannah for the service. I didn't ever know Steve's dad, but from the minister's kind words and remembrances, he sounded a lot like my father. The music on that blue-sky day was especially nice, too, featuring only two songs: "His Eye is on The Sparrow" and "Beulahland". Both are positive messages.
The same cannot be said for the songs at other funerals.
Exactly one month ago, I attended the funeral of Barbara's sister, Margie, dead at 58 years old from cancer. At her service, her minister tried to hold a "come to Jesus" meeting at the end. What a distraction from the loss of this woman.
I had written about being there for my friend, sharing my sunshine and support and solace. The experience has been on my mind greatly since then, accentuating my aloneness as it did hers. Notice, I said "aloneness", not "loneliness". They are definitely two very different concepts (which I may address more expansively in the future).
A week after that funeral, my stepbrother was admitted to the hospital again and was there for most of the week. The lung cancer was advancing much faster than had been anticipated. They determined that naught could be done to help him and sent him home, only to have him return in less than two days. The next time he went home, hospice came along. They weren't there long. He died just a few days after that return, but he died where he wanted to be - at home.
My friend Barbara attended the visitation, at the same funeral home as her sister's had been just three weeks earlier. It was good to have her company for the brief half-hour I had there (before obligations to 41 students required me to leave). My library friend also came to the visitation, but too late to see me.
Somehow, the visitation and funeral service were scheduled for the one night of the week that I work and that I have worked for twenty years. I would have hoped my stepsisters would have taken my schedule into consideration; having it all on a Wednesday precluded my presence there and added a sense of exclusion to my grief. (However, that was the least of Jean and Susan's oversights, as they made several mistakes in the obituary listing for me and my brothers, when a simple phone call or even text message could have prevented them. I guess catholic girl schools don't teach manners.) When I was done with my responsibilities, I was home alone again, no one tending to me.
George's funeral on a Thursday morning was filled with mourning family. As I mentioned just a few days ago, I have a large extended family. Somehow, though, no one thought to ask if I needed someone to come home with me, or to go to their home, so I returned home alone.
Cathy, in San Francisco, had called to console me on Tuesday evening (the 10th) and expressed disbelief that no one was bringing me comfort and comfort foods. My minister, who is also my stepsister's husband's cousin, had not known of George's death until I contacted the church earlier that day; after flubbing the announcement to the congregation of my loss, he did thank me for bringing him the news and hopefully he made it to the visitation. Angel, a friend of my stepbrother's but unknown to me, had given me a nice sympathy card, poem, and hug as I left the visitation on Wednesday (the 11th).
As a final note, on Monday evening (the 16th), I came home from school and a morning spent driving from Jet City (after returning the peace Guy to his new home after his oh-too-brief visit here) to find that the Asbury Angels had left a lovely bouquet and card on my front porch.
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