Back Home in Tears

I knew it would come to this: I'd go away for a couple of weeks, try to cope as best as can be expected (maybe better) and, despite my predictions to the contrary, come home to this empty house - this shell devoid of Connie's warmth. At least my son was here to greet me warmly; for that I'm truly grateful. But then I got the mail.

The mail.

A pile a foot or more deep. Letters. Sympathy cards. Catholic Mass cards. There are letters from those benefiting from the largess of our friends. Overwhelming love and caring seeps through as I slash through each envelope, tearing and clawing at the rough paper to unveil the uniqueness conveyed by each correspondent. The tears come easily. The missing is amplified. The pain of loss is almost too much for the heart. They call it grief. I prefer despair.

And yet, somehow, the mail confirms. It fills the emptiness of house and converts it to a home again. It's filled with blessings, with happy people remembering this beautiful soul that I was all too fortunate to love for so long. For too short a time.

My distress is dampened a bit. Perhaps it's from the tears trailing down my cheeks, cooling, soothing, as if they were some indeterminate potion. It reminds me of how many lives were touched and transformed by knowing her. By working with her. By loving her.

I vow to add another post, another update to a tale worth telling. I hope to find a fresh phrase that expresses thanks in my own way. Fighting off cliches, I beg forgiveness for delaying my response. I promise to subdue despair. I pledge to read the mail.