The End of the Line
Today I am grateful for the passage of grief, in time, and for peace, also in time. Both find their way to our hearts when we invite them. And I believe I can't know true peace until I have known loss and struggle. As humans, we get plenty of the latter two. The former is also in ample supply, but we are known to use our human shortcomings to get in our own way, to block peace.
One year ago today, on the calendar and the clock, my sister Mary Jo was in her final hours. After so much pain and suffering, at the hands of the insidious disease of cancer, she reached a peace she so deserves.
Her life was defined by much more than cancer, but with three rounds of it over thirteen years, it was a significant part of her story. And the reason for her death a couple months shy of turning 62. The grieving, writing, meditation, and processing work I have put in since Mary Jo's death has been meaningful and helpful to me. It has been about much more than loss and grief as well.
This side of losing a sibling looks a little different than the fear of losing a sibling looks and feels. I was thinking about Mary Jo the other morning as Darcy and I enjoyed one of our favorite bike rides. It takes us about 11 miles from home, to the end of a stretch of beautiful and hilly trail.
Then, we turn around and enjoy the view coming back. Enjoy the legs burning on the hills. Enjoy arriving home to sit down and rest a little. Enjoy life in the ways Mary Jo no longer can, no longer could as her health failed.
Here is what the end of the line looked like on Sunday, paved trail giving way to gravel:
One year ago today, on the calendar and the clock, my sister Mary Jo was in her final hours. After so much pain and suffering, at the hands of the insidious disease of cancer, she reached a peace she so deserves.
Her life was defined by much more than cancer, but with three rounds of it over thirteen years, it was a significant part of her story. And the reason for her death a couple months shy of turning 62. The grieving, writing, meditation, and processing work I have put in since Mary Jo's death has been meaningful and helpful to me. It has been about much more than loss and grief as well.
This side of losing a sibling looks a little different than the fear of losing a sibling looks and feels. I was thinking about Mary Jo the other morning as Darcy and I enjoyed one of our favorite bike rides. It takes us about 11 miles from home, to the end of a stretch of beautiful and hilly trail.
Then, we turn around and enjoy the view coming back. Enjoy the legs burning on the hills. Enjoy arriving home to sit down and rest a little. Enjoy life in the ways Mary Jo no longer can, no longer could as her health failed.
Here is what the end of the line looked like on Sunday, paved trail giving way to gravel:
What did the end of the line look and feel like to you Mary Jo? How does peace look and feel from your vantage point since leaving your earthly existence?
And then I turned to capture this view. Not unlike the gravel roads of the rural farm country where my siblings and I grew up. It's not the end of the line. It's a new view.
We miss you and we love you Mary Jo! Threads of grief are woven with threads of smiles and laughter and food and precious time together.
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