A few weeks ago someone posted a graphic on Facebook that read a bit like this: "there is something to be said about driving and singing to very loud music." I have always agreed with that and found myself doing just that as I returned from Chicago where I spent four days attending the long awaited celebration of my brother's 50th anniversary of his ordination to the priesthood. Given his health from age 28 (2 weeks after ordination he was in cancer surgery not expected to live) until today, he should not have made it this far.

 
 
It happened a few times during these past two weeks. As Labor Day approached I flipped on the television only to see ads about Christmas. The first time was in the last week of August when an ad was aired about the upcoming Christmas movies. The second time it happened that week, the station aired an ad about Christmas sales. Just after Labor Day I saw a post on Facebook when someone reminded lookers that with Labor Day behind us, Christmas was on the horizon. So since the thought of  holidays is already on the minds of those who grieve, I will jump in and address the subject now.

 
 
June 22 is a very special day for me. It always will be. It was on this day in 1986 that Bill and I exchanged wedding vows and from that day forward on the 22nd of every month that followed we celebrated our marriage  with cards, poems, dinner out and special moments. I still do honor that day each month.

 
 
I wrote this newspaper column for my husband Bill well before Alzheimer's disease invaded our lives.                                                                                Bill died March 27, 2010.

There was a time when his hands carried a Bible to school every single day. Over the years he used those hands to reach out to an almost endless number of people. As a minister he blessed others with them. As a clinical psychologist he helped people in pain. He hugged his daughters as they succeeded in life and greeted friends. As an artist Bill restored a Victorian house, built an elegant clock and more. With those hands Bill writes poems that stir souls; cooks meals just as he did as a small boy with a sick mother; draws house plans. He has used his hands to fix just about anything as well as create lovely bowls on his wood lathe.
He had soothed those around him and been tender and loving, gentle and warm knowing how vulnerable people are when pain haunts their days. Bill has had fun restoring an old Model T Ford and an old rusty Rolls Royce to their original conditions winning ribbons along the way and using only original parts. Playing Frisbee with our dogs, driving his tractor on our land and conducting choirs bring him joy.
Picture
The Rolls Royce Bill restored.

 
 
An Easter poem to share with you...

 

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