On Friday, November 24th, 2023 our beloved sister, wife, stepmother, aunt, grandmother, great grandmother, aunt, great aunt, cousin, friend and beautiful human being, Jackie Trafford took her last breath at 1:46am. In her final hours she was surrounded by her koving husband Jim and family. As her heart stopped its fierce beat, I rested my hand lightly on her forehead and whispered words of love and encouragement for her journey, And when her last inhale is taken, I wait for the next, but none comes. I do not want to take my hand away. I want to hold onto that touch forever. She was there the day I was born, and I was there the day she left this world. I do not want to let go but know I must.

Our hearts are heavy but we know she is dancing pain free with mom and dad, our brother George and his wife Roz and all our relatives who crossed over before us. She fought hard but the infecction that invaded her body after surgery for a ruptured bowel stole her life away.

Much gratitude for the prayers and words of encouragement and especially, the Love.

BENEDICTION - for Jackie
by Louise Gallagher

And when the last breath is taken, 
and the heart has beaten its final tattoo, 
we stand in silent communion 
wondering why, how can this be? 

That the one who once laughed and sang slightly off-key, 
and sipped a scotch with joyful anticipation, 
and prepared delectable meals with endless love and grace, 
How can the final breath be taken? 
How can her heart, so strong and fiercely loving, 
now be still?

There are no answers in death, 
only the silence, 
stretching endlessly into the vast unknown of the beyond, 
beyond the breath, 
beyond the heartbeats, 
beyond the off-key notes and the savoured sip of scotch, 
and the oven that no longer chimes to let her know 
the meal she so thoughtfully prepared is ready to be placed upon the table, 
set with sparkling crystal and flickering candlelight, 
to welcome the guests she has gathered, to let them know, 
through every act of kindness that she poured 
into every morsel she served, 
"I love you."

And when the last breath is taken, 
and the heart has beaten its final rhythm, 
we stand in silent communion 
with the silence and the comfort of knowing 
there are no more words that need be spoken, 
for the final benediction she heard, 
was simply, "I love you.”

Beaumont takes over writing his own poist this morning.

I am feeling frazzled. Weary. Scared. Uncertain.

And, I am feeling hopeful. In all those emotions, there is also always, Love.

To read more, please do visit him on his blog today:

Over at David Kanigan’s blog, he shares an excerpt from an article by Frank Bruni, “A Personal Summery Note” (NY Times, July 27, 2023).

Bruni invited others to send him their stories of summer’s they remember.

Bruni also inspired me to remember summer’s past in my response to DK’s post. My memories are tinged however with the current reality of wildfires raging and Mother Earth pleading with humankind to do something different to prevent the destruction of our planet.

Sigh. I think my mind is soaked with dread or… perhaps I just need to quit reading and listening to the news. Good think we no longer have a TV in our home. It could be worse!

It’s already a welcome kind of grey sky day here so I thought I’d dampen it some more with what I wrote along with a photo of Sir Beaumont of Sheepadoodle who looks equally as woebegone!

Thoughts of summer days burned deep into my cellular memories scuttle away from the starkness of current reality where 1,000 wildfires rage across the country. Of flash floods dragging lives into their undertow. Of children crying for lost pets and homes drowning beneath Mother Nature’s twistied winds and scorching heat.

Once upon a time, summer was full of carefree thoughts and endless days spent lazing between pool and lounge chair. Melting ice cream dripping down the sides of a sugar cone onto hot, but not too hot concrete. Of sitting in the car while the gods bowled in the skies above, because somewhere in my child’s mind, I beleived the car was the safest place to be when lightning strikes.

I don’t remember lightning igniting forests across the land. I don’t remember broadcasters droning on about warming seas and melting permafrast or storms that ignited forests,

In these modern climes lightening strikes carry fear-laden clouds of dread devestating boreal forests beneath their wrathful strikes. News feeds roll on and on with stories of tragedies falling upon strangers lives like the one about an elderly woman in Phoenix tipping over in her wheel chair onto too hot concrete that seared her skin to the third degree.

I yearn for those lazy, hazy, crazy days of summer where the northern hemisphere seemed to slip easily into slow gear with the arrival of the Summer Solstice. Under a Solstice moon gravity cradled me in comforting thoughts of Planet Earth held steadfast in its orbit around the sun burning away lingering memories of winter’s harsh winds blasting.

I am lazing in bed today. it’s a misty, drizzly kind of morning and yesterday, because I chose to wear shoes I know don’t work well with my feet, my right foot is a tad (very) sore today. My own doing. But… along with the grey skies, it makes for a good excuse to R&R for a bit and ignore the list of chores I had planned to do.

Ahhh…. those lazy, hazy, crazy days of summer.

Namaste

PS. I do highly recommend hopping on over to David’s place. It’s an enchanting read today