It's changing again, the seasons. Just when I figure out how often I need to water what plant outside, the weather changes and that skill is all for not.
I have a rare 2 days off and I can't seem to do much. I'm filled with a sadness and regret that I'm having a hard time shaking. Maybe that's part of the issue, I need to sit with it, not shake away from it.
The sadness and pain came to an end for Liz around the end of May. I had watched YouTube and had seen Liz reintroducing gorilla's back into the wild. I tired to contact the company to see how to get in touch with her, but never heard anything. Liz had been a good friend, even if it was over 25 years ago.
We got a copy of the autopsy and I read it last night. My eye's fill as I think about her now. The word that kicks me in the stomach is incised. I looked it up so maybe I could get a glimpse into something. What I saw was made or cut cleanly, as if surgically. The pain, sadness and regret overshadowed the light. It cut away the light on purpose, as if surgically.
I hear some of you, I don't know what kind of pain she had, but I do know what kind of pain I have now. God calls us to live in the present. To stop rehearing the past and dreaming up the future. I'm finding that hard to do today.
The strange part is how the world just keeps on going, not missing a beat. But when Liz's stone was dropped in the water, I noticed the ripple. I am glad that our ripples crossed and I got graced by your life. I remember the way you use to put your hand on your hip, the way you smoked a cig, and your laugh.
I miss you friend, rest in peace.
I have a rare 2 days off and I can't seem to do much. I'm filled with a sadness and regret that I'm having a hard time shaking. Maybe that's part of the issue, I need to sit with it, not shake away from it.
The sadness and pain came to an end for Liz around the end of May. I had watched YouTube and had seen Liz reintroducing gorilla's back into the wild. I tired to contact the company to see how to get in touch with her, but never heard anything. Liz had been a good friend, even if it was over 25 years ago.
We got a copy of the autopsy and I read it last night. My eye's fill as I think about her now. The word that kicks me in the stomach is incised. I looked it up so maybe I could get a glimpse into something. What I saw was made or cut cleanly, as if surgically. The pain, sadness and regret overshadowed the light. It cut away the light on purpose, as if surgically.
I hear some of you, I don't know what kind of pain she had, but I do know what kind of pain I have now. God calls us to live in the present. To stop rehearing the past and dreaming up the future. I'm finding that hard to do today.
The strange part is how the world just keeps on going, not missing a beat. But when Liz's stone was dropped in the water, I noticed the ripple. I am glad that our ripples crossed and I got graced by your life. I remember the way you use to put your hand on your hip, the way you smoked a cig, and your laugh.
I miss you friend, rest in peace.
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