prosaic

August started out bad and continued not-so-great. 

The sheriffs found the body of a not-quite-23-year-old man whose mother has been my friend for 30 years. I watched this young man grow up. My elder children played with his elder brothers, my sons played with him and his slightly younger brother.

We were homeschooling Quakers together and our families spent a lot of time together over the years.

The grief swept over all of us, and we reached out to do whatever we could to help the family.

The celebration of this man’s life was mournful and joyous, beautiful and starkly final. I shared many tearful hugs with his mother and held her hand while she looked at all the photos his friends had brought to share. I shared tearful hugs with young men who could not believe that something like this could happen to one of them.

August marched on relentlessly.

A job interview. Waiting. Less than great news.

Deep depression in someone close to me, and shallower depression for the rest of the family. Tense nights on suicide watch. Anxious days trying to encourage a despairing person to decide to live for one more day.

Hurtful behavior from my faith community. I feel like I’ve been set outside. What could be a source of strength in difficult times is mostly an aggravation. Oh, there are lovely, loving people in the mix, but there’s also aggression and a few kicks to endure.

A joyful prospect: caring for two toddlers for a weekend. The younger one comes down with hand, foot & mouth disease and is miserable and missing her mama. I sit up all night comforting her, sinking into deep accord with her, hoping she knows that she is loved and not alone.

I can do that, sit in compassion with an uncomfortable toddler, and not lose either patience or compassion, no matter how she tosses and turns and wails.

I feel that we’ve turned the corner, that our dark and miserable August is opening up to Light and joy.