I watched the pansies toss to and fro in the wind Sunday afternoon and thought that grief mimicked the Oklahoma wind, it's constant blowing, the incessant presence. Still, I marveled at the strength of the pansies' petals. Thinner than paper, the white, yellow and purple petals flop helpless against the merciless wind - still they persevered, resting intact between gusts.
In between chores and responsibilities, the metaphor followed me into today and I thought of different roles that grief and I could play. Each of the chapters involved the constancy of the wind and the strength of something seemingly fragile. Each involved faithfulness of the people who love my boys and me.
I can't remember them now. I wish I had written more notes as the thoughts floated in between phone calls and emails, but I hope you see the good here. What can hang about my shoulders and fog my every thought or intention didn't today.
So much depends upon whether you are buoyed by love or buried by sorrow - like the wind and the fragility of the flower - both are ever constant - The petal never tears and the wind never ceases.