I don't have any words to post, only the photos.   Kateri and I are so deep in grief.   I don't know what to do with myself.  I cannot even empty my dishwasher nor cook food.   But I will tell you a Kateri story . . .

Kateri called me at work in the middle of the night on Sunday (I work nights in the NICU).   She had had a good day Saturday, saying things like "This is the first day of the rest of my life . . . and I know the things I will carry forward, from Larry, like love of traveling, learning .. ."   At night, though, she said she was depressed.   She said she was worried about Larry.  She felt he couldn't be happy without his body--without his hands for playing the piano, his legs for dancing, and his eyes for seeing beauty . . .   I didn't have anything wise or consoling to say to her.   We just cried together over the phone. 

It just feels like something is terribly wrong, and I don't understand exactly what it is.    And I don't know what to do.

• When sorrow comes, let us accept it simply, as a part of life.   Let the heart be open to pain; let it be stretched by it.  All the evidence we have says that this is the better way.  An open heart never grows bitter.   Or if it does, it cannot remain so.   In the desolate hour, there is an outcry; a clenching of the hands upon emptiness; a burning pain of bereavement; a weary ache of loss.  But anguish, like  ecstacy, is not forever.   There comes a gentleness, a returning quietness, a restoring stillness.  This too, is a door to life.  Here, also, is a deepening of meaning-and it can lead to dedication; a going forward to the triumph of the soul, the conquering of the wilderness.   And in the process will come a deepening inward knowledge that in the final reckoning, all is well.

Christine Keller - Milwaukee, Wisconsin
kell@milwpc.com