There is comfort in sharing stories with the minister who will lead the celebration of life in a life worth celebrating, and peace comes from joining hands in prayer around a coffee table that has been put back in its rightful place now that the hospital bed and hospice equipment have been removed from the home. We look with uncertainty toward a new normal.
There is comfort in flowers delivered to the door and in food from friends. Homemade cookies, trays of sandwiches, and a coffee cake that is great any time of day, served hot or cold, are all the most delicious treats, and they are only made better when enjoyed together with family at the dining room table. (We are glad Kathy is not here to see us eating off of paper plates with plastic utensils at her dining room table.)
There is comfort in bourbon and brownies, that we describe as “B.B. Time,” and taking a deep sigh as a little splash of bourbon warms our bodies and we inhale the complexities of relief that suffering is over (combined, of course, with the deep pain of a terrible loss),
There is comfort in Crock Pot roast, in rice and gravy, and in red wine. Time is passing, and we will grow hungry; might as well eat some comfort food.
There is comfort in offering a man hug (from behind) when your sister-in-law’s eyes fill up with tears and you’d do anything to give her a reason to smile. There is comfort in offering a woman hug (from the front) and letting her bury her face in your chest because you think maybe this kind of closeness will let her know she is loved.
But mostly, the ultimate comfort we have is that we will see Kathy again, full of joy and sowing seeds for the joy of others.
Something that made today great: togetherness. Family time. Nothing will replace this precious time with family.
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