Ponderings on Grief, a little Mozart, and Venerable Bede tells of a Veritable Samson

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Hello.  Gosh this is hard.  How is one to accept that the face of one’s mother is lost and gone?  Grief is squeezing my chest and moving me from states of numb dumbness or dumb numbness, to states of wretched sore heartedness, where nothing can soothe, and all feels dark and bleak.

But the daffodils have burst into bloom in our garden; newspapers are being printed as usual as if there’s been no pause.  And she still feels near.  

Thank you for your company.   🕯️🫖🦢

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