To Process Life
You ever get hit with news that shocks you? It can be good, bad, or indifferent. It always takes a moment or two to really process it in your head. Sometimes it takes more than just a moment. You wind up in shock wandering around confused for a while. That's where I am today. Late last night I found out through my husband that a family friend and pillar of the community had suddenly passed away due to leukemia. I had no idea she was even sick, and suddenly a woman who has just always been there in the small town where I'm from is just...gone. My brain hasn't been able to even begin to process that. Please allow me to explain a little about her. Forgive my somewhat scattered thoughts.
Dorcus was a woman in one of the small churches I grew up in. She was always kind, and had a smile for the little girl who was a bit of a hellion. She loved kids. All kids. She started a little shop in town that I remember being there forever before it burned down on Christmas eve one year. Instead of rebuilding that particular shop, she partnered with one of her daughter's to help her daughter's dreams of owning a shop come true. That shop still stands today and is as cute as the day they opened. She taught skiing to kids, and was always there just as steady as the mountains around the town. While I was closer to her daughter than her, when someone is just always there it's a shock when they are suddenly without warning gone. While I will mourn her going home to heaven, I can't imagine the pain her family is in. The whole town will mourn her passing, but celebrate the life she led. I know that one day I will see her again in heaven, but that doesn't make the letting her go much easier.
So forgive me, my bloggers for the shortness of today's blog, and for the melancholy of it, but here is where I process things the best. Writing it out is one of the ways I can begin to accept that she's gone. It allows me to understand the questions of how, and why, and the ever why her. I don't have the answers to those questions, but I can begin to process them. Thank you for being there. For being quiet supports of everything I write. That too allows me to process. So thank you.
Dorcus was a woman in one of the small churches I grew up in. She was always kind, and had a smile for the little girl who was a bit of a hellion. She loved kids. All kids. She started a little shop in town that I remember being there forever before it burned down on Christmas eve one year. Instead of rebuilding that particular shop, she partnered with one of her daughter's to help her daughter's dreams of owning a shop come true. That shop still stands today and is as cute as the day they opened. She taught skiing to kids, and was always there just as steady as the mountains around the town. While I was closer to her daughter than her, when someone is just always there it's a shock when they are suddenly without warning gone. While I will mourn her going home to heaven, I can't imagine the pain her family is in. The whole town will mourn her passing, but celebrate the life she led. I know that one day I will see her again in heaven, but that doesn't make the letting her go much easier.
So forgive me, my bloggers for the shortness of today's blog, and for the melancholy of it, but here is where I process things the best. Writing it out is one of the ways I can begin to accept that she's gone. It allows me to understand the questions of how, and why, and the ever why her. I don't have the answers to those questions, but I can begin to process them. Thank you for being there. For being quiet supports of everything I write. That too allows me to process. So thank you.
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