When I find myself so busy that I can’t catch my breath, I often make quick notes on blog post ideas. Ideally I get back to them in a day or two, but in this case it’s been a few weeks now:

[June 30, 2007] Attending the Celebration of Life for our dear friend Marylou today, I thought about how deeply woven she is in our church life. Not a day goes by that I don’t feel her presence as we have worked for many years together on church communications: as committee members, as part of the newsletter volunteer team, and as my essential office volunteer. Her loss has created a great tear in the fabric.

I thought about it as I sat listening to the testimonials about Marylou’s life and the impact she had on the lives of friends and loved ones. I visualized the tear that could not be repaired without a visible scar. I thought about the threads that Marylou’s life contributed to the beauty of the fabric. Imagined each of us as forever changed by this weaving process. The people in our lives are imprinted on us and change our essence forever. We are never the same and in us they live on forever.

The tear will be mended and the scar will become part of the design as it changes with the new threads that continue to be added. The weaving began long before we came and will continue long after we are gone. When we depart part of us remains in those who knew us, emanating from their hearts.

3 thoughts on “Tears in the Fabric

  1. I very much appreciated the thoughts which you expressed.

  2. Thanks, Mom. I know you have experienced deep tears in the fabric of your life. May the beauty that remains give you comfort. XOXO

  3. Since my Mom died in April, I am learning how important it was for her to be my Dad’s “eyes,” keeping the household going, bills paid, shopping done, being a 24/7 companion to Dad, since he’s blind. I see him failing some since her death. I don’t know what else to do except keep in close contact. Yesterday Dad was a bit confused, having moved into the nursing home wing of the Village. We talked about vacations we took back in the 1960s, how I didn’t spring out of bed at 6:00 AM happy as a lark, raring to go! How he’d pass all the motels with a swimming because they cost a couple dollars more. My brother and I would howl in the back seat, and just maybe he’d stop at one, so he and Mom could have a break while we were letting off steam in the pool. I heard the confusion leave Dad’s voice as we reminisced.

    While your father isn’t blind, your mom fulfills everything else on the above list. And I’m beginning to understand what a challenge it is to be responsible in a new and different way for another adult’s life.

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