My good friend Ellen Notbohm writes about a mantra that helped her in parenting a child on the autism spectrum in her book, The Autism Trail Guide. Here is the quote:
"Courage doesn't always roar. Sometimes courage is the little voice at the end of the day that says 'I will try again tomorrow.'"
- Mary Anne Radmacher-Hershey
Yesterday, while checking in on my friend Jim's blog, there was the same quote, helping him out, as well. And it has been a good mantra to have this past week as our family grieves Michael's death. Serendipity.
The one positive thing about a funeral, however, is that it brings family together. It has been quite wonderful to have the family around all week. Imogen has especially enjoyed all the attention (so has Elliot, but he refused to pose for a picture). Here is Miss Idgie with Papa Pat and Nona. Thank goodness for grandchildren to make everyone appreciate the living.
Imogen has also been pleased as punch to be reunited with her Aunt Kate, who was (almost) there for her birth. Here's Imogen getting loved up by Kate.
We're now focused on planning Michael's memorial service, which will be at our house this Saturday. Pat will be leading a Native American pipe ceremony, and we expect it to be a really beautiful, healing event. Thanks so much to all our friends and family out there who have sent your condolences, thoughts, and prayers our way this past week. If any of you would like to make a donation in Michael's memory, you can give to the Red Cloud Indian School in Pine Ridge, South Dakota.
May something serendipitous happen to you today. And on that note, I'll leave you with a poem (I'm going to start including more poetry on the blog for you, by popular demand).
Angels
The man at the watch counter watching us
says I don't question how angels come to me
we have chosen the watch
he didn't know he wanted
he wants one too calls us
angels I feel the nubs of wings turn
my eyes to him rough something
renegade leather torn edges
his partner thin more frail a watch
for him too two identical watches
identical to the one we've chosen
but do not buy I feel the nubs of wings
remember the flocking
sandhill cranes surprising us
among geese taller and voices
lifted the brown bodies walking
through wetland soft rain coming
in wind hundreds walking opening
wings and dancing calling
across cold spring afternoon
how often do we get to be angels
nothing to do with watches
with wings or not wings
two men buying identical watches
us turning away from timekeeping
I don't question how angels come
Brittney Corrigan, copyright 2002, all rights reserved.
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