Like 2002.

Today is St Patrick's Day. Everyone's Irish. Even those that aren't Irish are Irish. One drive through a college campus--even when March 17th falls on a Sunday--tells you. There's even more green on MSU's campus  than the typical Spartan apparel.

Among other things, I am part Irish through my mother's side. But this day holds no celebration for me. Not since 2002. It is a big deal, though, that I have a green turtleneck on. I really haven't bothered with honoring it for 11 years.

You see, on March 17, 2002, I stood in the emergency ward. And little did I know that it was the last day my mother ever spoke to me. Her last words--like John's--were that she loved me. I left for a little bit to check on Dad, who was sitting at the nursing home--where they both lived--wondering what had happened to Mom. So I went to reassure him. But when I got back to the hospital, all hell had literally broken loose. No details here, just suffice to say that Mom drifted into a coma and never awoke again. She lingered on, though, for a week, passing on March 23.

And each March, I remember. I've tried to forget that time, preferring to remember her birthday--May 30--instead. But March is still very rough every year. This year, more than ever. Part of it is because of my recent loss. Part of it is something that I just remember a few days ago.

In 2002, March 17th was on a Sunday. March 23rd was a Saturday. March 23rd was also the day before Palm Sunday. And I remember that following Good Friday (the day after we buried Mom at Ft Custer) was a very dark day for me. But out of the midst of that, I had an earthy angel, something that happens quite often these days, but still continues to amaze me.

I went alone to the usual Good Friday service that evening. There, in the middle of the aisle, stood a simple, rugged wooden cross. We are encouraged to go to this cross with our prayers and supplications. So I did.

I still remember that prayer. I had never felt so alone in my life. I had spent the last few years helping to care for my parents, and now Mom was gone. What was I going to do? I felt so alone.

When I sat down--by myself, again--I just sat there, staring at the cross. Soon, I felt someone's arm go around my shoulder. I didn't look to see who it was; I didn't want to .Not at first. To this day, I do not know who it was, but I felt great comfort and the beginning of an answer to prayer.

I mentioned that I felt so alone. Little did I know. In the last few days--even with all the wonderful people around me, I feel so very alone. The loneliness invades my sleep. It occupies the spaces where other thoughts are pushed aside.

I know God is with me, but I just feel so empty right now. Numb. I can't even cry right now, though I assure you, I have a lot these days.

And...if it's the same days of the week for Mom's death anniversary, then it will be Dad's, too, this coming August .What a horrible thing that all of these are on the same days on the same year of John's death!

I think it's true that suffering a loss like this makes the other ones stand out, too. So I'll need a gentleness this month, along with the other anniversaries I'll be encountering.

I was going to avoid the Widowed Persons Group today, but I think I need to go...even if it's to listen. Other than what I've typed here, I just don't feel like talking. I just feel sad, exhausted, and alone.

And no, this isn't meant to be a pity-party for me. I know I'm really NOT alone, as I said. It just feels like it. It's sorta like what we talked about in my book group at church. I'm reading the book Silence by Shusaku Endo. We talked about the silences. And these days, I get it. Prayers met with silence. I know He's listening. It just doesn't feel like it right now. God always has one of three answers to prayer: Yes, No, and Not Yet. Maybe we're in the Not Yet phase.

In the meantime, I'm waiting in the silence.