It is my hope that my two losses, added together, will equal a win for those who read what follows.
Life - and death - happen, in the family room.
I was the canvas, she was the brush, God was the painter.
There is a great deal of sadness in my life with my dearest treasure on all this earth being gone. But one sadness will never describe me.
I know how much it meant to me, in those final months, then weeks, and then days, to hold her hand as we walked the halls of the hospital.
We'd been often to the mountain, the ocean, and the forest, our little bug, my wife and me.
Soon Thanksgiving, then Christmas, To gather our dear family, But not the one who loved to decorate, With the berries from the tree.
When you've lost your dearest treasure, little things matter.
It’s not an ego wall. There’s not a prized catch in the wild mounted on the wall. It’s just an ordinary wall.
It was one of our favorite outings, to take country roads just to see where they led.
What can burst the iron bands affixed around the heart, the bands keeping the heart from breaking due to the sadness of grief?
A journey most difficult to make. To enter hedges where broken hearts pour out their grief. To bury a treasure beyond price.
What beauty had been there just seconds before had disappeared into the shadows of the forest. Such is life.
It is J.R.R. Tolkien to whom is attributed the phrase “Not all those who wander are lost.”
“Do we get a prize for hiking this trail?”
Years advanced, what we think about when all alone.
Like a drifting, incrementally enveloping, all-obscuring fog, that fateful day had arrived.
Colors that have been in the leaf all its life begin to show through, but only as the masking effect slowly fades away.
World River Day, and the day my grandson and I rowed the boat together, are about beginnings.
It is a cry for help. A supplication from the depths of despair, a pouring out of grief even as the skies pour down an onslaught of rain.
It was the whole cross-the-crowded-room first glimpse that became a second glance that became my opportunity to ask my question.
Today she has been gone but six months. And this evening, as with most evenings, I will return again to our quiet place by the lake.
The swanlike cyclamen blossom appears suspended, as if hovering, its petals upswept as if searching.
A tiny pine tree sprout, my heavenly reminder that there will be a day, one day, and that day will be a beautiful and glorious day.
When the last of the laughter is heard today, and all have gone to their own homes tonight, I'll return, as I often do, to sit alone.
It wasn't about catching fish. It was about catching up.
In the adventuresome world of parenting, and of education, and of life, two matters most important to be addressed.
It was a fairytale moment in a whimsical place along a slow country road.
In Robert Frost's "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening", I can identify with the lone wagon driver.
'D' is for duck. And daisy. And Dutch. My wife was Dutch. And 'D' is for death.
Opprobrium is not a flower's badge of honor. Awe is.
As the others sang, tears streaked down my face. And, again, I had forgotten my handkerchief.
It began as a brush fire that would destroy at least nine homes and take the lives of two men.
A lesson for life while watering the flowers.
Why must both sorrow and sadness, love and gladness be guests in our home?
"Two people perished in this tragic incident and support has been established to assist those affected."
Reflecting upon the loss of my wife to cancer after 50 wonderful years, I think how hiking to 'the far side' was so like our married life.
One of the last places we were, where I heard her voice, felt her touch, enjoyed her conversation, or just sat saying nothing at all.
One day we would climb another mountain. Steep and rocky was the terrain, the physical toil extremely hard, the emotional toll harder still.
The sign read, "Ocean Beach Access," but below that "No Water." What's an ocean without water?