The Cycle

As I pull the brightly-colored quilt up over the bed, I want to crawl under it and hide. For days on end, I could stay there. Grief floods through me. Not as often as before but just as powerful.

Twelve years ago, next week I said goodbye to Luke. Eleven years ago, my mom passed away. Just ten days later, we lost Samuel. Three years ago more of my children went away. I hear from them in passing.

Most of the time, the dull ache simmers deep beneath my smiles. This time of year, heated by the anniversaries, it boils closer.

I must tell Jesus. I must keep moving. This too shall pass.