I’m venting, pounding my palms on the car steering wheel as I drive the 20 minutes to a Franciscan center where my church is hosting a day retreat. I’m resentful, mad at my husband, and mad at myself because I feel he talked me into something I didn’t want to do. This keeps happening. It’s…
From the corner of my eye I watch Jerry shuffle out of the Carpenter’s Lodge into the chill November darkness. From a pile of firewood near the kitchen door he carefully selects four or five logs. Some are split. Some are short but whole. His rough workman’s hands choose those short enough to fit into…
“What can we do to help?” friends asked me as my husband lay dying and soon after he passed. At first I didn’t know how to answer. I’m still feeling my way through early stage-grief from the inside out. At first I didn’t know what I needed, but others sometimes recognized a need and…