Monday was Memorial Day. We used to call it decoration day and the whole family went to the cemetery to put flowers on the loved ones graves. Now its looked at as a three day weekend and with cremations the thing its not a special day anymore.

I came across the journal that I was writing in when my husband was in the hospital. The 57 days I would rather forget and not for the faint of heart to read through. It is interesting and funny that I do not remember a lot of the things I wrote down. Tears I thought were long ago spent came in huge tidal waves. I had to resort to reading in intervals.

I recall a woman saying to me fairly early in my journey, “well, at least you have your memories”. This was so early on, that the memories I had were his dying in my arms and my wedding band hand closing his eyes forever. My memory book mind was still seeing the suffering and the turmoil and raw hurt.

Going down memory lane is like entering a construction zone. The first thing you encounter are the strips that rattle your dentures and take years off your shocks. I live in Colorado and construction is the next season after winter. As you proceed, you go slow and wait, then repeat.

All the lovely things we did as a couple come back in spurts. Some times I am reminded of his wonderful, weird, FAR SIDE humor and I laugh out loud. Other times , tears come freely as I revisit sweet occasions. I am often in awe at all the things he did just for me and so ashamed at being annoyed some times. Those moments are wrapped in regret, and shame. Then the lane of life changes and quickly life speeds up until the next zone.

In scripture God told his children and leaders to make a place of memorial stones, even an alter at times. He knows how we are and how we forget his grace. How would our paths and surroundings be like if we laid stones of memories. Would you have a walkway or a well?

Being called weird is what I feared,

but my thoughts were still the same.

I miss his face, his lips I trace,

and softly whisper his name.

Being alone, brings the sorrow I condone,

and fill my thoughts for many hours.

Then Jesus steps into my deepest heart,

His forgiveness of me is the redeeming part.

Some days linger long, like a favorite song,

the ones that were ours are the best.

I often give God the most dehydrated sod,

but pray for His plan to take root.

I start each day, letting God have His way,

and depend on myself less and less.