Ob-la-di ob-la-da

Than you to everyone who has reached out to me about Serena. I'm so touched by your kindness.  

I've spilled a lot of tears over the last few days. In some way, grief gets easier with age: you have both practice and perspective. In other ways, it gets harder, as new grief somehow unlocks grief long thought buried. 

And yet, here I sit by the ocean, which, even in my sadness, is magnificent 

Yesterday, we had a lovely evening of conversation with new friends, with a view that could only be described as idyllic. It was the first time I'd been social in a while and it was exactly what I needed. 

Today was the farmer's market in Lunenburg. And the biscuit lady was in town. Everyone is excited when the biscuit lady is in town with her delicious scones. You get up early that day. 

Scones, coffee, and fresh sweet peas from the market
The flower lady was there too. She had sweet peas, which always remind me of my maternal grandfather's garden. As a young child, I spent hours walking through the rows of flowers, picking raspberries and fresh green peas, and then shelling them on the porch, eating the sweet green peas right out of the pod. Perhaps in heaven, Serena is walking with my grandfather, who showed infinite patience with both dogs and small children. 

More likely, she is trying the patience of a Saint. Serena used to have a terrible habit of hammering on any closed door with her front paw, demanding to be let in. Once in, she would then hammer to be let out. I'd be willing to bet that, at this very moment, Saint Peter is losing his mind as she hammers repeatedly on the pearly gates, demanding to run in and out, the way she used to on my office door. 

Grief is transforming into fond memories: the sweet alchemy of healing.  

This afternoon, we went for lunch in Mahone Bay. I'd been wanting to visit the Biscuit Eater Cafe because it's a cafe and bookstore. Also, it serves biscuits. I really like biscuits, but you've probably already figured that out by now. I had the butternut squash macaroni and cheese, with biscuits, and it was divine. 




And then, this afternoon, we watched Magic Beyond Words: The J. K. Rowling Story, which is one of my favourite movies, speaking to the healing power of words. 

And it was good. 

For the first time since Sunday, I've been able to feel joy. As Psalm 30:5 promises, "The nights of crying your eyes out give way to days of laughter."

I miss my little dog like crazy, but I'm grateful she died here, in peace, in a place that is so very healing.  

What my faith is bringing me this time around is a new perspective. There will be suffering. And there will be joy. And the whole happiness thing that I subscribed to for years is a bit of a distraction. We are here for a purpose and part of that purpose is to be strengthened and refined. And an entirely easy life does not provide that. I think C.S. Lewis got it exactly right when he wrote:
If you think of this world as a place simply intended for our happiness, you find it quite intolerable: think of it as a place for training and correction and it's not so bad.
I've had some very good training over the past few months.

Thank God.

2 comments:

  1. "In some way, grief gets easier with age: you have both practice and perspective. In other ways, it gets harder, as new grief somehow unlocks grief long thought buried." That's so very true, I've experienced this myself.

    I'm glad to hear that the cottage and surroundings are doing a good job of helping you through this time. And the scones too! I love a good scone with a cup of tea.

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  2. I'm so glad to hear you are finding pockets of happiness. Your cottage is fabulous and I hope it brings much joy. That scone looks amazing! xo

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Thank you, darling!

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