A journal of healing

In Memory

hawk 15

This weekend is a time when many celebrate the arrival of summer. Many forget what the real reason for Memorial Day. My family was blessed that we had many members serve in the Navy and all returned. My sister-in-law was a Lieutenant and served as a nurse in Vietnam. My nephew was a Master Chief and served in Dessert Storm on the Kitty Hawk. My uncle was an Admiral and his son a Chaplin. I honor all who served especially those who did not return. But for the life of me, I cannot see the beauty and purpose of war and fighting.

Life is so fragile. We all live in such a precarious balance of being here or not. Why do we perpetuate the slaughter of so many? I understand standing up for principal and righteous but who is to decide who is right? What happened in WWII with the murder of so many innocents who died solely because of their race and beliefs is in comprehensible to me. And yet, we did not learn from that as a world population because genocide still continues.


I fear death. As I get older and more impaired, I constantly worry about when my time will come and what that will mean. It grips me and strangles me but I move on with the hope to make some mark in the world before I go. There is no backsies when you die. You are gone and that’s that. Whatever comes next will not change the fact that you are no longer part of this world. If I sit with this for too long, it digs a hole in my gut too deep to express and so I move on.

This week I had two reminders how frail life is. My Browny had a seizure. He never has had one before and I hope he never does again. We thought we were going to lose him. He could not stand and was so weak. It was horrible. We sped to the Emergency Vet hospital and by the time we got there, he came back and was he was his normal obnoxious self. When they went to take him back to examine him, he pulled so hard on his leash whining to stay with us. It broke my heart to let him go back by himself. But he was fine, and has been. But I am ever so cautious, looking for signs of another one. His only symptom was his temperature was up. We had the air conditioner and window open on the way and he must have cooled off some. But what spiked the temperature, and was that the cause, we do not know.

Dot and Dudley

Last Sunday, the two baby doves both left the nest. We knew one was in the shrubs. We were sad because I thought Mom and Dad Dove, Davina and David, were also gone. At night, they returned. I though all was well. I had grown attached and although I missed the babies, I knew they were big enough to be on their own as we saw them fly. On Tuesday morning, I found Dot, one of the babies, lying on the path in the garden. I raced to get something to pick her up. As I lifted her into my hand I noticed  she was in terrible shape. Something had attacked her. She opened her eye a little wider and I stroked her little dove feathers. She was still warm but barely alive. As I held her sobbing, she crossed over and her soft brown eye closed. We heard her parents cooing all morning and it really gave meaning to Mourning Doves. We buried her that night in the garden with Davina watching every move.

I know it was only a bird. But it seems so senseless. So is war.

This  is a sad post but I hope it will inspire to cherish the time we have.


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