Sometimes.

Part of me wants to sew this weekend.  I have some lovely fabrics coming.  I have some lovely fabrics here.  Really lovely stuff.   I would love to spend the whole week sewing.  

Part of me wants to get as much done on my shawl as I can.    

Part of me wants to sit outside in the sun and shake off the doldrums of winter.  

Part of me wants to stay inside reading my old favourites and work on volcanoes and snuggle into my sofa buried in shawls and warmth with tea or cocoa at hand.  

A thing came up on my facebook page yesterday that pulled the virtual rug out from under my whole day yesterday.  I usually kind of enjoy those facebook memories things that come up, but yesterdays was particularly ...    It was from the time before and it was particularly painful not because of the post itself, but because of how unaware I was, how innocent we both were of the things that were heading our way just a few bare weeks away.  

Brian wanted to go camping and I wanted, needed to plant the garden.  So we planted the garden.  It wasn't nice weather in the mountains anyway.  Brian wasn't feeling great.  His back was hurting a little as it had all that spring and Keith came and helped with getting the last potatoes in.  

When I look back on it now, knowing what I know now, I am grateful that we did not go camping.  Brian could have gotten the boat on the lake, but no possible way could he have gotten it off the water without one of the boys to help him.  

I know how lucky I am in a thousand different ways.  I have a wonderful pile of grandkids who sustain me, and am warm and comfortable and have enough to get by plus enough to have a few little luxuries in my life.  But sometimes, just sometimes, everything I am screams silently for all that is lost.  Sometimes it is those days when I could barely remember to breathe.

It will pass and I will be back in the present and doing fine soon enough.  It is the way of loss and of life, that the day to day stuff fills a life up.  It is as it should be.  But sometimes.