and on this day

After a lovely day visiting Jane's backyard on Table Mountain, I impulsively pulled into the Cherokee Cemetery. Not having been there before, I was surprised by the marker for a little girl named Katie that died in 1868. And then I read the stone for her brother Dannie, and many more after that. A cemetery is a pretty safe place to cry, and I broke off some lilac and brought it back to Katie's stone. I may not have a stone or a place to go for my Katie, but this Katie I can bring flowers and think of my Katie, in this moment in time.

Grief no longer fills all the moments of my life, but this week is a tough one. The days of the week line up with the exact dates of her last days and her death and our search for her. Sacred tears come in these moments, tears that used to fall daily have learned to wait until I can make time for them. I will miss her the rest of my life. That is reality.