Hardest in the Morning

So, today is Monday, Sept 3, and it's been one week since she was buried.

It's also Labor Day ... and the Feast of St Gregory.

I wrote myself a note last night reminding me that I am already a Dead Man; a Man Awaiting Death; just like her ... just like everyone ... I just happen to be among those Awaiting Death rather than among those Already Dead.

But oh it hurts. I miss her so much. It's hardest in the mornings I think. I wake up early before 5:45AM ... when she died. And I get things for the Dog. But I don't have anything to do for her. No tea to fix, no blood pressure to check, no meds to get out, no breakfast to prepare. I look around the room and everything reminds me of her. And reminds me that she is gone.

One thing in CS Lewis' book I couldn't relate to ... where he says that he tries to tell himself that he'll be OK, that he got along before he met her (his deceased wife Joy) and will get along without her. In my case, that's not true at all. Since the deceased is my mother, there is no "before" when I got along without her. She was always there, even when we lived apart, and that was not all that long a period of time over the years anyway.

Now she's gone.

I'm not sure that this is so very different from CSL though come to think of it. He points out that he's a different man after he's met and experienced Joy. So ... there is no "before" for the man who has experienced Joy and lost her, really, is there.

I'm no different from anyone else. Except in the sense that we are all different, all distinct Members of His Body.

But I need to remember that I am really Dead. Awaiting Death rather than Already Dead, but Dead all the same. Charles the Dead.

Lord Jesus be with Charles the Dead this day, as you are with all of us, as we seek to hobble along as best we can by Your Grace in Following You on Your Way of the Cross.

Time for me and Spooky to go for our morning walk in the Rose Garden and the park. Away from her. Or perhaps with her in another sense. You know what is best, Lord. Thy Will Not mine be done.

St Gregory, pray for us.

Charles Delacroix