Serena

Friends buried a son today. He had completed two tours in Iraq. Military men and women with whom he’d served drove hundreds of miles to attend the funeral. One spoke about the young man’s heroism, his courage, his loyalty. His brother spoke about their joyful childhood. His mother wrote about his enthusiasm for life and new experiences—how holding onto him as he grew up was like trying to “hold back the wind.” He came home to a loving family. He started college. He achieved a 3.9 GPA. A twenty-four, he died by his own hand. It is incomprehensible. Inconceivable. Unbelievable to all who knew and adored him. My husband preached the funeral. He has done so many funerals, but this one was the hardest. He prayed for words that would comfort. He prayed that at the very least, he would do no more damage to this shattered family. Words did come. Hopefully they helped a little. The crowd of loving people who came and surrounded the family helped a little. I’m fairly certain it would be infinitely more terrible to grieve a child and no one notice. Before the funeral, in our hotel room, while my husband re-worked his funeral […]

My daughter-in-law dropped my grandson off for a visit today. Five-year-old Johnathan was in full Indian mode with a headband and a brand new plastic bow-and-arrow with three rubber-tipped arrows stuck into the band of his shorts. Needless to say, he wanted to shoot something! At the moment, we’re house-sitting my mother’s 1800’s log home. There are lovely, antique pieces of crockery displayed, none of which are built to withstand the enthusiasm of an energetic little boy. So I decided it was time to take Johnathan hunting. Outdoors. Even though Johnathan is as brown as a nut from being outside all summer, I felt he needed war-paint, and he concurred. Before going on our hunt, we raided my lipstick stash and I painted stripes on his cheeks. That necessitated several minutes of preening in front of the bathroom mirror before he left for the hunt. There’s a lot to admire when you’re five. In my universe, there is nothing quite as sweet as walking down a country road with a little grandson–unless it’s walking down a country road with a little grandson dressed like an Indian–who voluntarily and trustingly slips his hand into mine. We talked about how he was […]

As many of you know, my niece was diagnosed with an aggressive form of breast cancer a few weeks ago. She discovered it early enough that the surgeon was able to remove it all. The biopsy of the lymph glands was clear. We celebrated. She is now in the process of enduring several months of “preventative” chemotherapy. The prognosis is good. Frankly, I don’t even like thinking about the word “cancer.” I don’t like using the word “chemotherapy.” I don’t like pondering anything that involves hospitals or illness or pain. I am infamous in my family for having passed out cold on the doctor’s office floor when he mentioned that my elderly mother might have to have open heart surgery. And so, wimp that I am, I’ve been privately annoyed in the past by all the pink ribbons constantly in my face–annoyed because they made me think about a subject I wanted to ignore. That has changed. My annoyance has now changed to gratitude. Within 24 hours of my niece’s diagnosis, the phone calls began. Phone calls from survivors. Women from her church, women who knew women from her church, women from our home town who know her mother. Encouraging […]