Thestrals

7:30 a.m. -- Dropped Meg off to babysit.
7:45 a.m. -- Arrived at school with Ev. Hot cocoa and pumpkin delight served by Miss Catherine in the vistatorium.
8:15 a.m. -- School started for Ev. I worked with two students and wrote lesson plans.
11:30 a.m. -- Picked Meg up from babysitting at ladies' bible study. Delivered dinner to dear friend.
12:00 p.m. -- Ate our lunch at Mom's. Mom reminded me so much of Dad's last days today. Visited with Gayle. Chadda came by.
1:40 p.m. -- Returned to school to work with last student of day.

But I didn't work with my last student of the day. Instead, I had a little breakdown. I just couldn't stop crying. I pulled into the church parking lot instead of driving up to the school. It was very much like episodes after Dad died, when the sorrow would just roll over me and I couldn't do anything but go with it. Dave came out to rescue me from the parking lot and sat with me in the darkened church library. I love that man. My boss covered for me with my student and had only words of kindness and compassion. Such a treasure.

But why? Why now? I really didn't see this coming. Dave thinks maybe since my sister Gayle is here and I'm relieved of responsiblity for a bit, now I'm more free to feel and grieve. Maybe so. Or maybe it's because the memory of Dad's passing is still so fresh, I know what I'm in for this time. I can see the thestrals now.

It reminds me of when Ev was four and needed surgery on her hands. She was born with syndactyly. The first hand was done the day after her fourth birthday. We were all pretty clueless. Dave and I just sort of floated through in a daze. I remember even asking the doctor after the surgery, "Will it hurt?" Duh. They sawed through her bone and grafted skin from her hip onto her hand. Yes, it's going to hurt. A lot.

When we went back two weeks later for the other hand, Dave and I had a very different experience. I felt like we were going to collapse into a heap as we rode down in the elevator after sending Ev off down the hall with her surgery team. We knew what was coming. But you know what saved us from a total breakdown that day? When the elevator doors opened, there stood a friend of ours, looking for us. He took us to where other friends and family had gathered to wait with us, to hold us up, to hold us together.

We are not in this alone. We are walking through the valley of the shadow of death, but we are not alone. We get to hold Mom's hand as she says goodbye to this world. We get to hold each other together.