empty

I didn't cry at the funeral. I didn't even cry at the graveside. But when I walked into an empty horse barn today at our county fair, I broke down.

It's the end of the fair; we missed it while out of town for Dad's funeral. But Bill and I went anyway. My favorites are the animals: sheep and pigs that the 4-H kids show. Lop-eared rabbits. And sleek, strong horses. They're all back at their farms now, gone from the fair for another year. And when I entered that deserted horse barn, it was an image of my heart right now: empty, quiet.

 

You know the story.

My dad made an agonizingly slow decline

into dementia and,

eventually. other issues brought on by immobility.

It lasted four years and his inability to do much of anything for himself

for the past six months was deeply saddening to watch.

I know he is now whole and healthy, living in God's presence.

But my heart, like these horse stalls, is feeling empty for a time.

Abandoned, in a way. Though I'm blessed by many loving family and friends,

I've decided grieving is a solitary journey.
And so I continue it, because it really began
four years ago when Dad began his decline. 

Thank you all for the many expressions of love and caring.

 

I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.

2 Timothy 4:7