This past weekend was spent travelling to a memorial tea for a friends mother, Rose.  Each time word of a death reaches my ear I am griped in an almost physical hold so tight I can hardly get a clear breath.  No matter the age or circumstances my heart breaks for those left behind.

While Jason was ill he asked me not to weep, saying it (his illness) was about him, not me.  He asked me to keep a clear head so I could be cheerful and offer support and speak of him as a man who would live forever.  And I did and in my heart he will be with me forever.  Well now his departure from my life is definitely all about me.   

Each of us who grieve for him hold our grief as separate and personal to us alone.  We are in one big house called grief; separated by the walls of the rooms we are in.  We hear each other grieve and the walls we have erected  prevent reaching out enough to touch or lend comfort to one another.  Our pain is our own and moving beyond it to find joy, that is the challenge.  Doing all the things that once brought smiles and quilt free pleasure.  Taking a step, moving in a forward motion, making a start and Getting past go…