May you know the blessing of unquantifiable, every-present Love.

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There are countless things in life we cannot quantify, yet we invariably depend on them. The number of breaths carried by the wind remains a mystery, as does the exact count of feathers that grant a bird its graceful flight. The river flows with an untold number of droplets, just as uncountable snowflakes vanish under the warmth of the sun in this unusually gentle December.

Equally immeasurable are the memories of my sister, Jackie. I can’t quantify the number of times she crossed our home’s threshold, her arms brimming with her world-famous mashed potatoes (described as such by my daughter) and a myriad of treats for everyone – humans and dogs alike. She always brought along her favorite chilled white wine wrapped in a freezer sleeve to ensure it was ready to savor with our dinner.

I cannot recall the last Christmas dinner she wasn’t present at our table, always there to remind me to fetch the potatoes from the oven and to ensure everyone’s glasses were filled. Her mischievous request for “just one more wee drop of Scotch” from my husband, accompanied by a playful twinkle in her eye, remains a cherished memory.

I’ve lost count of the times she rang to remind me of a family member’s birthday (knowing my penchant to forget), or to check if I’d seen a post from The French Connection in our Grand Famille WhatsApp group. And, even though I cannot count the number of times she graced our home at family dinners, or brought over a meal when my husband was ill, or I was away and she was worried he was not eating, or how many times she phoned to say she was thinking of me, or called my daughters to let them know she was thinking of them, or asked about a friend she met but once at our dining room table, I could always count on Jackie to remember people, what they liked to eat, and didn’t, and to ensure whether the dinner was at our home or hers, that there was a special dish to please every palate.

It’s who she was. She cared. Deeply. Her life was an embodiment of selflessness. She was a pillar of strength and support for our mother, stepping into the role of caregiver after our brother’s passing in 1997. For 25 years, she was more than just the eldest daughter; she was our mother’s confidante, champion, a constant source of support and love.

Her caring nature knew no bounds, touching countless lives, though the exact number of people she affected with her kindness is beyond my grasp.

Today, as the earth tilts, welcoming back the sun’s embrace in the northern hemisphere, I can count my own orbits around the sun but not the individual rays that have caressed my skin. Yet, amidst all the incalculable wonders of this world, one thing remains certain: the love my sister and I shared. This love, vast and unmeasurable, is my constant. It’s a bond that transcends time, distance, and even eternity.

For this unquantifiable, ever-present love, I am eternally grateful.

Whatever your celebration, no matter your faith, may you too know the blessing of unquantifiable, ever-present love. May your table be a circle of love never-ending.

12 thoughts on “May you know the blessing of unquantifiable, every-present Love.”


  1. Dearest Louise,I ‘overflew’ this when I was sick in bed. btw, it’s quite interesting and for me not the first time that I spend festive days ill, in bed, or homebound…. which probably says something about me I don’t really want to know (or people to know about). But what shook me hard was, that I came across it when I was on a hiatus of blog-reading (busy with this wretched cough, splitting aches and horrible cold, not able to sleep or do anything at all) – what I DID have, was plenty of time to think my thoughts. I couldn’t write them down as I often do, I didn’t share them, and yet – they were literally the same thoughts you wrote about your beautiful sister Jackie. I wondered why in that time of Christmas and Advent my sis had such a predominant position in the world of my thoughts – maybe because, for many years, we gathered in their house (being the only one large enough – at a squeeze – to fit all of us in?) and that, since they sold it, we never had another Xmas celebration together. They moved to a rental flat as we all are and we were less and less ppl to feel like doing a big Christmas thing. Then she died on our wedding anniversary two years ago. I can’t put my finger on it but I said to HH: Isn’t it funny (not funny ha ha) that Christa is commanding every moment of my mind and heart right now? Then another thought hit me: For days on end I thought: WHO is it that nearly coughed their life out like I do now? And yep, it was my sister. Eventually her body couldn’t carry all the health burdens she was carrying, everything gave in, heart, lungs, legs, multiple illnesses, her mind started to cave in too – she called me once at 2am to tell me things going on in her mind and when I tried to calm her, she screamed: So, you’re in ‘their’ camp too, you too think I’m mad? It was all the stuff she had to take which couldn’t help her but hospitals DO try to ‘force-feed’ you until you can no longer fight it. She made her peace with everybody in her surrounding, with her children and then she could die. Our relief was incredible, our sorrow still sometimes is unbearable, and life goes on.

    This and so much more flooded and floored me when I read your thoughts about your sister. And I LOVED your table decoration. So much love in such a small gesture of attention. I think I dug in my larder cabinet and made something totally not festive (we returned on Saturday before the 24th from a few days away and all shops were closed, I was so sick that going shopping would have been the last thing on my mind) – HH who later on also shared my being unwell – so that the two of us coughed and spluttered in unison – and seeing your beautiful decoration of a plate just pushed me over the rim of my tea-mug! 😉

    I haven’t read any others of your posts before or since, as indeed I also haven’t any posts of any of my blogger friends – but I had to get this offloaded now. I wish you and yours a New Year filled with wonders, joy, faith, good health and many a deep conversation – on anything!

    Kiki

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    • Ahh, my dear Kiki, we are indeed sisters of the heart, souls intertwined in an ethereal tapestry of shared joys, sorrow and unspoken understanding. Our bond, woven from the delicate threads of memory and loss, forms a silent symphony that echoes through the chambers of our being. In each other’s stories, we find reflections of our own, a mirror of grief and resilience that transcends the mere confines of blood. As leaves sharing the same wind, we dance in the melancholy breeze of our shared past, finding solace in the gentle sway of empathy and companionship.

      I am so sorry your illness lasted so long and transferred to your HH as well. Wishing you good health, heartfuls of joy and much loving laughter. ❤

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    • I think it is the beauty of counting our blessings. It reminds me of how much I have to be thankful for, even when I can’t quantify it. ❤

      Sending you warm wishes for a joyful New Year, or as they say in Germany, Guten Rutsch! (good slide into the New Year) 🙂 – it was always one of my favourites when I lived in Germany. 🙂 ❤

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  4. This is another absolutely wonderful tribute to your sister Jackie. The words flowed straight from your heart to plunk upon the paper, amidst the tears is the grace she taught you. HUGS my friend. Bernie

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