a prophetic voice-

     It all began, this vigil-keeping, with my husband, Carl- keeping watch as leukemia ravaged his young, once-healthy body, robbing us- me and our children, family and friends- of this caring, lovely man far too soon- me, thirty-three, him, thirty-seven...watching that last week as fevers raged and chills convulsed and so little of him- the him that had been, the him that I loved- remained... my sister, Susan, keeping vigil with me until, exhausted, I slipped into sleep, only to be awakened by his final ephemeral kiss good-bye, (did I only imagine it?) even as Sue was shaking me awake to say he'd gone, Death welcome as it slipped silently through the door.      Countless Hospice patients later crossed my path, inviting me to share their journeys home, honoring me with their trust and an awareness of Holy Ground each time I sat and held a hand, soothed a brow, wept with a spouse or child- holy vigils all.      Then there was Mary, my dear friend, who would not allow

Grant that she many finally Rest in holy peace At home with you and those in whose Company she will live in love Eternally. Amen. Let it be so

The sunlit turquoise window niche casts a lustre of blessing on the room where she lies... sometimes fully here sometimes seeming far away, her eyes fixated on a view I cannot see, I cannot know. "Who touched my shoulder?" she asks- a touch which only she can feel. "This morning I feel great," her weakened voice insists, as nailbeds cyanose and cheeks are sunken more and more with each passing day. It's a slow and plodding process, this dying... a path which I will one day also walk... and I cannot help but wonder what's it like for her- to know that each passing day, each passing hour, brings her that much closer to what?- the end of all she's known...relationships and work and love and creativity... though in the near distance a door is opening and those she loved and lost are beckoning with smiles of welcome, just waiting to embrace her and bring her to a place of light, even as we, here in this darker place, wave a tear-stain

Life has been reminding me lately that I am not in control of it...not my own, nor anyone else's. Unexpected death, ongoing illness, and my carefully-planned schedule is turned on its ear. Like the weather in this part of Carolina, things can change in the twinkling of an eye, and the path I'm navigating becomes uneven, rocky, giving me no sense of what lies around the next corner. Many of my recent days, in fact, have felt like I was stumbling along in the dark, or at least in a murky fog in which I am uncertain where next to place my foot, lest I stumble and fall headlong into who-knows-what. My prayers have become pleas, I'm afraid, for peace...for strength... for courage...not only for myself but for so many I love. And I cling ever firmly to the Incarnation of Divine Love made known to me in the countless friends in countless places who have been supporting and uplifting me. How would I ever survive without them? But then, I don't think I'm suppo