There is such a sadness floating around me swirling like water ’round a rock.
I fell asleep on Wednesday to the news of the horrid killings in Charleston and awoke on Thursday to the lingering sadness that prevails. Though my day was filled with work and purpose, I felt that proverbial weight of the world on my shoulders.
I sifted though a pile of envelopes; fliers, bills and such. Sitting in abeyance was a “note to self” to call a member of a board I sit on. I had not heard from Barb in some time, knew she was ailing. I had been experiencing a difficult time getting in touch with her. I put my note in a spot where I would see it, planning to call her when I returned home.
The best made plans do often go astray, for I returned home to a message that Barb had passed away. She will be missed.
The the sadness swirled some more as the news came to me in a phone call about one thing that led to an aside about something else; a long-time friend had passed away a week or so ago.
Milt was a unique person; a man who walked the walk he talked. He was an educator and a man with a servant’s heart; someone who truly practiced what he preached.
I first met Milt when he became the principal at the elementary school our daughters attended. When I met him, our Jennifer was in second grade. Katy was a toddler tagging along with Mom on a school related task. Milt, then the in-coming principal at Field School, introduced himself, shook my hand, and then got down on his knees to say hello to Katy. That was Milt; meeting everyone at their own level.
As time went on, we became friends and we started a book discussion group; the very same book group I am still in and sometimes mention here on the Cutoff. Milt and his wife, Rosalie, stopped participating a few years ago. Age related issues and life changes had deemed it time for them to move on. They were the most devoted of couples I have ever known. Most of the members of our book group are either retired teachers who taught with Milt or friends who are parents of children who were under his principalship. More than that, everyone in town seemed to know Milt, who winter-camped, had a prison ministry, was a staunch advocate of the rights of all and a good steward of the environment.
We’ve missed Milt – and Rosalie, who had successes in her own right. Rosalie was a writer and one of the first to publish a book about Alzheimer’s. “Journey with Grandpa” is a memoir of her father-in-law and of living and caring for someone with the disease. It became a loving “how to” manual for many in a time when Alzheimer’s was just beginning to be recognized and talked about.
Milt’s story wraps around another part of my life which is part of my sorrowful mood right now. In a discussion some years ago, he mentioned the first school he was principal at and of the young Greek Orthodox priest who tended his fledging flock with services in the school’s gym, with Sunday school in the classrooms. We had a good chat as I said that I was actually one of the children attending Sunday School and Greek language school there.
Not long after that, I attended a anniversary liturgy at the Greek Orthodox church, Holy Apostles, which had eventually moved to its permanent location, building a permanent church, where the very same priest Milt remembered, Father Bill, still tended his flock. I had a few moments to talk to him and mentioned my friend, Milt, the principal of Nixon school, which he seemed to delighted to hear about. Father Bill passed away a little more than a month ago.
So it goes, this passage of time, senseless acts that have no rhyme or reason and a floating sadness like water ’round a rock.
Usually your posts bring smiles or outright laughter, but this one, Penny, brought a few tears.
Sometimes it all seems almost too much to bear, doesn’t it? And yet, life goes on around us even as we grieve, and the cause du jour today will be old news next week as the media, both left and right, move on and train their focus elsewhere; sad but true.
I am sorry for the loss of so many of your friends in such an incredibly sort span of time, but I’m sure, judging from what you’ve told us here, that your life has been so much richer for having known them.
Hopefully, tomorrow will be a sunnier day. Hugs!
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You are so sweet, Karen, and the sun did shine today making the world seem brighter. Thank you so much. Just the act of writing helped life the veil on sadness. I don’t like to do sad posts, but, well, it just seem to flow today and I realize it how wonderful it is to have my online friends who listen and encourage me. 🙂
Sometimes it does, indeed, seem to be too much to bear, but, we work through it and do feel less sad. My life had truly been better for having these friends in it and we honor them by remembering the this way.
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I am so sorry for the grief you have in your life now. Karen said your life was richer for having known them and in return you brought much joy to their lives over the years in ways you never imagined. As you have said to me, grief work is hard. I hate that you are having to face it. Your friends share your sorrow and are here for you. I will keep you in my thoughts and prayers. And I know that light follows dark, and that “hope is the thing with feathers…”
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Thank you, Marilyn. Your kind words, thoughts and prayers mean so much to me. As I mentioned to Karen, the act of writing was cathartic and helped, then, my good friends like you – and Emily’s “hope is the thing with feathers. . . “.
Did you know a movie is being made about ED?
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I’m sorry for your loss. It’s doubly hard coming at a time of such horrors. I heard about the news and am grieved to the core. I pray that good will come out of this somehow.
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My prayers, too, L. Marie. Sad and bad things seem to come in threes, so the lore of life goes. We all deal with these feelings from time-to-time and then, if we are lucky like me, there are friends such as you to help us through. Thank you so much.
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Penny, how beautifully you evoke the sadnesses swirling around you. The image says it too. Sometimes grief comes in bunches, and it’s hard to tell which one we are grieving you. I wish you tenderness and gentleness as these sadnesses percolate through you.
I read a beautiful quote recently, from a teacher called Jeff Foster who I had never heard of before:
Sadness does not want to be healed,
it wants to be held.
May you be lovingly held, dear friend.
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That is such a tender and lovely quote, Juliet. You are a dear for sharing it today and in so doing I feel “lovingly held”. Thank you. I have been so fortunate in all the quotes, poems, sayings that all of your generously share here. I will write Jeff Foster’s into my Commonplace Book.
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Hugs.
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Thanks, Adrienne.
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I am so sorry for all your recent losses Penny and my heart aches for the senseless killings in Charleston.
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I thank you so much, Gerlinde – and my heart aches, too, for this senseless killing. Schools and houses of worship; what have we come to?
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This is all so sad Penny. Some of these losses, whilst sad, remind us of the ongoing circle of which we are part…but some seem to be separate from any pattern that makes sense. Hugs x
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So right, Janice; the natural course in life in one thing, but, a senseless killing is senseless. Thanks for the hugs.
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Oh Penny. Such a well-written post about the inexplicable. I have been so sad about the SC tragedy — and upset with myself that I have no idea what to say. . Pervasive sadness is a good way to describe. I’ve felt like a brainless Pollyanna, just ignoring anything bad. But I am just not capable of writing how I feel. And I always ultimately decide that the best thing I can do is just keep on going and doing my silly little happy thing. It doesn’t help anything, but it doesn’t hurt either. I guess.
I am so sorry to hear of your personal losses as well. It is so hard to deal with at any time, but there is some comfort when death means the end of suffering; there is some sense to it then. But ….
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I understand that feeling of a loss of words as well, Sallie. There is something to be said about a Pollyanna outlook, which helps us see the bright side of things. Heaven help us all if all we felt was gloom and doom. I do have hope in the future, even while feeling so saddened at what has happened in SC.
Knowing the end of suffering has come does provide a measure of comfort, doesn’t it? Just talking about it here on these pages of the Cutoff helps. Thank you for your words here, Sallie.
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A very lovely tribute to your friend Milt. The shootings in Charleston is enough to make anyone sad but all the rest of your recent losses combined with it make it even more personal.
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Thank you, Janet. We all have these times where so much tragedy and sadness prevails. Having coffee and a chat with all of you last week was such a balm for me. I hope that the shootings bring about some positive changes.
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Oh my, Penny. These losses are certainly significant and touch a very soft spot in your heart. When we really connect to a friend it is impossible to maintain the “ordinary rhythms” of life when they leave us–even when they’ve lived a long life. That’s never any less a loss. When I told a friend that I was sad after the passing of another friend she commented, “Oh, I’m sorry you’re sad!” Hmmm. I was taken a little off-guard by that remark and followed by saying that I thought perhaps it was completely appropriate to be be sad and mourn the breaking of a circle. Your losses, compounded by the enormous emotional “hit” of Charleston’s tragedy, must have made for a very contemplative week, Penny. And I’m sure being with Kezzie and Ezra must have provided a very necessary, and timely, tonic. ox
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