What I have been doing

I am so excited I cannot wait to tell you all about it, 

however they have not had the official release yet :(

But when they do, I'm gonna shout all about it!

Dreary

Okay so this blog is getting a little dreary with all of the grief posts I have been writing.  Humm, guess it's the time of the year, being in touch with my feelings and missing a wonderful man like crazy!

So here is some fun stuff--random pictures!

Every Widow Needs a Joan

A friend morning, noon, and night
Whose happy and uplifting
Warm and welcoming.

A friend who is living life and drags you kicking and screaming back amongest the living.
A friend whose shoulder you can cry on, and who will cry with you.
A friend who will laugh with you as well as at you!

Some one who will fix you dinner so you get a little nutrition every once in awhile,
And who invites you to do everything no matter how many declines you give her!

A friend who knocks on your door or calls in the mornings, so you can keep your mornings and nights straight!
A friend from the beginning to the end. . .
A friend who can stomach the ugliness and still be sweet. . .

A good friend, through thick, thin and,
Through the ugly and the repulsive side of grief!

Normal?

Sunday I traveled with the Nieman family down to EC to visit the cemetery.  It was a beautiful day with a beautiful family, but regardless it was soooooo painful.

I glanced around the cemetery as three if the children were running around with butterfly nets,while the baby was climbing over the headstone.  The adults were washing and cleaning up the headstone.  I stop and look around and in my mind I scream, How did I get here?  How can life be so fragile and short? How can I live without him.  How does this trip to visit Papa 's grave become a family event?  Everyone poses for pictures around the grave.  How and why?

When I hear little one-year-old Bella Button jabber and say the name Papa as she looks at something no one else can see, and I realize it IS all real and all because we love and miss this beautiful and wonderful man.

Death is

so

final.

It is the period at the end of a sentence.

It is no more tomorrows.

Done.

Over.

Finished.

Death

is

so

ending.

No more post scripts,

but's,

however's,

or maybe's. . .

Death is permanent.

Death is the end;

of breath,

pumping blood,

life of a heart.

Over.

End.

Done.

No more.

Even if you believe in eternity,

Death IS the end of this earthly chapter.

There are no more tomorrows,

dreams, hopes, or goals.

The end.

Put the pencil down finished.

Clouds and sunrise. . .

Grief and life. . .

Sometimes life isn't really clear through the mist of grief.
Sometimes life is difficult to distinguish living in the memories of yesterday.
Sometimes in the mist of grief, it is hard to know if it is the beginning or the end.
Grief monotones the color and tones of life.

Happy, yes there is still happiness after a great loss; my life is just painted with a different paintbrush, and more muted tones.

Life is still good.
I still feel and know love, it is just on a smaller scale.

The Sword. . .

Here's the story!

Back in 2003 Joe went to a gun show where upon he purchased a sword.  When he got home he excitedly showed me his new purchase.  I looked at him strangely and said, "what are you going to do with that?"  Joe took the sword and attached the sheath to his belt.  He then stood on his tippy toes, because at 6 foot 2 inches he was not tall enough for it to hang properly, and said "this" as he quickly drew the sword and posed with it up in the air, as if he were posing to defend his army.

I laughed at him! 
Seriously, he was 40 years old with a brand new play toy! 
Big boys, big toys!
Joe was proud of that sword and besides, not everyone had a sword!

Since his death I have looked at that sword and thought, "what am I supposed to do with that?"

The grandchildren however, think it IS the coolest thing ever.

Here are some pictures of Joe's grandchildren posing (very carefully) with his sword. . . 

Joe would have been so happy his grandchildren see 

the majesty 

of the 

sword!

 And, the parents posing with the sword. . .