Winter has passed. I can feel it. I’ve begun my summer sleep cycle of waking before dawn — and dawn comes earlier every morning. Thank God.
Acknowledging the passing of the winter forces me to realize that almost a year has passed since my mother died. I don’t … understand how that is possible. In my mind, there is no distance between the moment of her passing and this moment. It will always have happened just a few minutes ago. And yet … the mind is a protective, flexible thing, isn’t it? I don’t have to live inside that moment all the time, anymore. I can sit quietly, in peace, without falling into tears. Sometimes. Recognizing that almost a year has passed forces me to look at how dark my heart has been for so much of this year. The light has come through as a shaft of sunshine through a keyhole.
How I love the small glances found in old churches. It’s as if the architecture of those spaces, with their intention to be sacred, create an enclosure for broken hearts to be safe and mend. And feel the light coming in through the keyhole. And when you’re ready, to open the door.