The way to love someone
is to lightly run your finger over that person's soul
until you find a crack,
and then gently pour your love into that crack.
~Keith Miller

Friday, January 16, 2015


When by brother ... ummm, at my brother's funeral services ... I thought of myself as "representing our family", as "representing him".  I expected to hug his friends ... I expected to offer them words of comfort ... I expected that I would (from my perspective) get through it.  I thought (and still do think and feel) that grieving the loss of my brother is a private thing - not because I'm so very private, but because the moments of grief come unanticipated.  As with my birthday ... he has been a consistent wisher of Happy Birthdays.  It was weird knowing that the call wouldn't come.  There wasn't a particular moment of grief, rather the acknowledging that the familiar sound of words and the sweet sentiment conveyed would come never again. I smiled to remember the fact that he always covertly reminded Momma ... and she always began, or ended the birthday call with ... your brother said ... . "What makes you think the old girl didn't remember all by herself?" he'd asked when I'd thank him for reminding her ... She always gave him away.  Momma wasn't good at discreet.
I am fortunate ... I have the family I made ... and friends.  This year's birthday was a good day.

I was taken completely by surprise when a good friend of mine from little girl days walked up to me with a hug at my brother's service ... I didn't expect anybody (my husband yes, absolutely yes) to be there for me.  It was very touching.  It felt like God's touch.  My close friend from way back in the day surprised me by being there also ... with her husband.  It's a long drive up from South Texas.  It never crossed my mind that any of my friends would be there.  So many of brother's old friends were there too ... guy's my brother played ball with, skipped school with, fished with ... didn't join the Navy with ... his guys ... old guys who've been all over the world now ... in my mind's eye they were still sixteen ... the goodness, the solidness of them was ... sweet.  It helped me on a day that I wasn't hoping for help (except from my husband).

And today ... at my front door after work ... a box with a note inside:
Dearest DeAnn,
Since this is your first birthday without your mom and Tommy,
please accept this box of goodies to warm your heart and soul.
Much love to you and wish we were closer - CJD

Words can sometimes, 
in moments of grace, 
attain the quality of deeds. 
~Ellie Wiesel  

And what then when those grace filled words accompany a deed ?
It feels like love.
It feels like God's love, like a hug from God.
The deed ... a hand-knit scarf from the friend who taught me how to crochet, some hand lotion for hands that need a rest ... coffee (and it smells how heaven might smell) ... a bracelet
 ( it to know your heart is forever entwined with your family and loved ones...) 
to remind me of how it feels when someone does God's work ... sends love to fill those cracks ... it's sweet.  Precious really.

                         The way to love someone is to lightly run your finger over that person's soul until you find a crack, 
and then gently pour your love into that crack. 
~Keith Miller

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