My dad's death occurred in winter, driving those of us left behind into the winter of the soul.

It was a long hard darkness. Somehow my mother managed her daily business - running to and fro She fears stopping ..., for losing what little control she has left. So she sings, day after day, week after week. Each melody cutting deeper into the wintry terrain of grief.

I believe at times a little denial slips in. As she wanders aimlessly around the neighborhood in a daze, searching for dad at the friendly Walmart Store. She knows he's gone, but her heart kept hoping as she arrived home that she would hear dads voice welcoming her home again. She misses his voice of approval telling her she looks like a peach. We tell her, but it's not the same.

She walks ..., with a rhythm unique to herself. A rhythm that matches the music of her soul. In those early days of her grief, her inner music was lumbering, but gradually the tempo increased! Until one day she found herself becoming more aware of her surroundings. The first time in months. This new awareness made her face an awful truth: her husband - our dad - was dead and wasn't coming home. She stops in the middle of a song, unable to breathe asking, how could this be possible? She suddenly has to sing hard - fast - hammering out those deep throaty sounds of music. Angry at doctors, herself and even God. It has taken weeks, months, of hard fast singing to sing through the anger and pain of being alone.

Her grandchild has replaced much of her sadness, with feelings of happiness. Seeing him bubbling over with excitement at the prospect of spending time with grandma. He always has a smile of acceptance for grandma just as dad always had. She feels better after Jacks visits and decides to sing again next day. Only she branches out to sing for others as well. The more she sings she reasons maybe the pain will disperse altogether.

Of course, she has her friends wanting to know why after only a year ..., wasn't she over it yet? She sings - she sings through Thanksgiving and Christmas. She sings when sleep escapes her. At night with only the sounds of the house, she sings. She prays a desperate prayer and an angry sentence. She sings and walks alone where once with a loved one. She sings even though she chokes back tears.

It has been two years since his death. Her hope is seen in a little one's smile and the voices of her children. She calls it hope. She will never fully recover from her loss, but there is a new promise ...,
she feels the comforting presence of God.

She knows she is loved.

She is not alone.

Donate Your Time and Talents and NOT MONEY !!! ——— Will Mentor and Train