(borrowed from the web)
(Reviviscence - I love finding new words. Thesaurus.com is my writing best friend)
[rev-uh-vis-uh-ns]
1620 - 30; Latin: revivisc (ere); to come to life again; re - re + viviscere, inchoative of vivere to live; see revive
1. The act or state of being revived; revival; reanimation.
2. Come back to life; awaken from hibernation.
Awakening
from hibernation somehow seems appropriate to bringing life once again to this
blog. While its beginning is rooted in
my journey moving through shadows upon the death of my husband, and children’s
father; it is not the sum of who I am.
Having wrapped myself in the loving, healing cocoon of an online widowed
community for many years, I linger no more in a void and feel need to
incorporate my second phoenix into this space.
Thus,
it is time for this small speck of cyber-space to reflect life where it is and
how it is being lived. I aim to be no
one’s guru, nor to tell anyone how to live.
My goal is to reflect upon what makes my world what it is and how I see
it. Should you choose to visit the pages
of the past, be warned that there be the demons of darkness, pain, and bone
deep sorrow amid the scattered shards of light and strength gained to a path to where I now stand. I ask for no
sympathy for that previous life; I am no one special that death and
its attendant sorrow should not visit me.
The truth is that I will miss Jim until the day I no longer draw breath,
but have worked hard to step into a renewal of joy, life, my ever growing crazy
little family, and the gift of a second love who adds comfort and laughter to
my days.
And, so it is that I will begin with reflections on the unexpected, magical serendipity of two remarkable days amid the ordinary that make up my life:
And, so it is that I will begin with reflections on the unexpected, magical serendipity of two remarkable days amid the ordinary that make up my life:
Days come and go ordinary in their sameness, but nonetheless
noted in having passed. Yet, every now
and again come a short span of hours, that while neither famous nor newsworthy,
are spectacular in how they touch the soul.
Two such in a row have passed that are marked upon my heart as Remembrance
Days.
Tuesday afternoon we had a serendipitous surprise visit from my late husband’s brother and his wife. We’ve not seen them in ages and, yet, it was as if it had been only yesterday…as our entwined lives have ever been. These two have become both family and friends since I first met them in 1970 as a shy young woman about to marry into the family. I am so grateful for their love, tender mercies, memories and laughter.
Tuesday afternoon we had a serendipitous surprise visit from my late husband’s brother and his wife. We’ve not seen them in ages and, yet, it was as if it had been only yesterday…as our entwined lives have ever been. These two have become both family and friends since I first met them in 1970 as a shy young woman about to marry into the family. I am so grateful for their love, tender mercies, memories and laughter.
Yesterday came the gift of family in the form of my daughter
and her youngest step, Miss Beks (who has the most startling blue eyes,
infectious smile, loves being weird, and adores her Nana and Pop-pop); my
GrandMunkee, her partner, and her little troupe of my two adorable and very
busy pixie great-grands; my ever feisty 89 year old Mum with her wicked sense
of humor; and, my Handyman who makes me laugh every day. The absence of other members for whom work
and other factors kept them away was noted in the silence where their contributions
normally would be.
It was a delightful, if sweltering, afternoon of food,
laughter and tiny voices filling this old house, soaking the memories into its patient,
ever listening walls. It is marked on my
heart as a Memory Day to pull out and review when the hard days come. The evening ended as the sight, sound, and smell
of home fireworks began to fill the neighborhood.
We are an aging tiny little rural subdivision
in an old cow pasture down in the elbow of Podunk with few children living
within its confines. It was a pleasant
bit of nostalgia that my also vintage neighbors were sharing their own
festivities with their grown kids, grands and, mayhap, great-grands. I am beyond grateful and feel equally blessed
that my own chose to spend their time here in this space at the end of the
cul-de-sac we call Casa de Chaos.
