Sunday in Port Angeles

I am feeling more and more keenly, as I read the CaringBridge entries from nearly the beginning, how generous, wise and kind you all have been in offering support, ideas, friendship, empathy.  And I experience all over again how this kindness has surely helped me to make it from one day to the next, from the day of my beloved's death to today.  As I visit the past, (starting so far with the September after my beloved's death,) the rising intensity of emotions/memories/appreciation leaves me more full of feeling and less articulate.

Taking a break from the work, I visited with my friend and hostess and a friend of hers whose husband had died very recently.  They had been each others' first and only loves, together since youth.  We walked, talked, ate together.  
I am struck by how each of us lives this journey in her own style, shaped by childhood, family, early losses.  We continue living our choices to accommodate---or not---those modes of expression which were permissible, and those forbidden; which feelings were allowed and which must be suppressed.  We relive our conscious or unconscious decisions to play by our family's rules---or not.  When the great losses come upon us, we live our history into our present, discovering what we have grown past and what still has us in its grip.  Grief has its own shape and its own rhythm, both learned and never before experienced.  
I notice that in my life, the presence of overwhelming grief has not precluded bursts of wild (and sometimes black) humor.  For me, evidently, that is how Life reasserts itself in the midst of death and loss and the darkest sorrow.
I am grateful.
Good night.