Shall we live in mystery and yet conduct ourselves as though everything were known? ~ Christopher Fry
As I made my coffee yesterday morning, I looked down and noticed that it was Bill's thermos cup. It is made remarkable by the ding on the side. I smiled as I remembered him pouring his coffee, slipping on his black leather jacket, sitting it on the floor while he tied his shoes and carrying it out as I watched him climb into his car and off to work. I instinctively wrapped my hand around the cup a little tighter and brought it gently to my lips hoping to capture his essence in a more physical way. It was a bitter sweet moment.
I am noticing more and more that because of my journey with grief, everything seems to have significance. I see meaning in what appears to be random events and wonder if my heart is always open to the possibility that they are not so random but more a sign; a sign that he is watching over me and that these events are proof of his constant vigilance.
I think back of my experience with the gentleman who called a couple of weeks ago. His call came when I was feeling lost and oh so very alone. I was also remembering a conversation we had had about whether or not we had already shared all of our stories. Can it be?
Just last week, a robin sat in our tree for a good long while and I found myself saying, "Hello Bill". The bird returned despite the cold for a few days after staying there bobbing and chirping, for a very long time. My heart was warmed by its presence.
Are these all just coincidences? Is it possible that in the mysteries of creation, God, the energies that move the world, that Bill is looking out for me? I would like to think so.
There are many more "events" since Bill's death and many I've shared with others who have been through grief. I shared them shyly at first but openly now for my heart is made glad as I think, Yes, it might be so.
I also think back to Bill's comment that I sometimes need to take off my rose-coloured glasses and make room for doubt. However, I also recognize that equally, there is room for faith and hope. After all, this is the nature of mystery.
My heart has been lightened by the acceptance of all intimations of love and care as gifts.
What a beautiful posting, Ginette. I too get intimations of Gwen's presence. As you said, I no longer doubt or question them--you said it well; if there is room for doubt there is also room for hope and faith. It amazes me that in my blog today I too called myself a person of faith and hope. Keep on loving those robins.
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