The ordinary days are the dangerous ones. No warning bell ever rings before they turn. That's the real answer here: love banked now, not saved for later.
Dove, the line “I assumed there would be time” carries so much of the ache in this reflection. You name a kind of grief people do not always know how to place: the loss of someone who was not a close family member or intimate friend, yet still shared breath, music, presence, and the quiet promise of someday. The image of invisible threads resting gently on our skin is especially moving because it honors how even brief or partial connections can remain with us after a life is suddenly gone. Grateful for the tenderness and humility in this reminder to love clearly, speak while we can, and receive ordinary days as gifts.
Thank you @unpaidledger Rev. Taylor for your beautiful comments. You put your finger so precisely on all that mattered in my hopes for sharing this, honoring the deep sadness of such a loss, and reminding us all of the gifts.
Oh no, such a sad story, Dove.💔 😢I am sorry for your loss. Your lovely description of you and her singing and breathing the same songs brings alive the sense of delight that she and you have offered to others. I imagine the choir will have a different sound. 🎶💐
This is a beautiful response to the paradox of ordinary daily life and the sudden all encompassing affect of a death. Thank you. 💜
Thank you 💜 Leslie.
Beautifully written.
Great reminder to cherish every day!
Thank you so much @AZhorseman for your kind comments. It’s like we can’t learn this enough and then life will remind us again.
The ordinary days are the dangerous ones. No warning bell ever rings before they turn. That's the real answer here: love banked now, not saved for later.
Exactly. Quite beautifully said. We must bank it now.
Dove, the line “I assumed there would be time” carries so much of the ache in this reflection. You name a kind of grief people do not always know how to place: the loss of someone who was not a close family member or intimate friend, yet still shared breath, music, presence, and the quiet promise of someday. The image of invisible threads resting gently on our skin is especially moving because it honors how even brief or partial connections can remain with us after a life is suddenly gone. Grateful for the tenderness and humility in this reminder to love clearly, speak while we can, and receive ordinary days as gifts.
Thank you @unpaidledger Rev. Taylor for your beautiful comments. You put your finger so precisely on all that mattered in my hopes for sharing this, honoring the deep sadness of such a loss, and reminding us all of the gifts.
Oh no, such a sad story, Dove.💔 😢I am sorry for your loss. Your lovely description of you and her singing and breathing the same songs brings alive the sense of delight that she and you have offered to others. I imagine the choir will have a different sound. 🎶💐
Thanks Patti, it’s still shocking. She’s my age, lives in my town etc. Thanks for reading. If this helps anyone to read, I will be so glad.
You’re welcome, Dove. I know the shocking experience of learning that someone you’ve spent time with is suddenly gone. 🙏 Take care of you.
It can be disorienting and awakening at the same time.
I appreciate your idea of making short love videos for your dearest ones. 💗