Living With Grace

It's hard to put the feel of my friend Jean's house into words.  It's the warmest and most welcoming place I know, overflowing with faith and kindness, art and music.  Her grief, still raw, carries on the scented air like potpourri.  David is gone but still everywhere and it comforts me to be here.  His widow lives with grace. 

She smiles.  She makes tea.  She talks about missing him each and every day.  I think, as I have thought many times before, that if ever there had been two people destined for each other, true and eternal soulmates, it was these two.  I suspect she's integrated her grief until it's become a part of her being and a part of me envies that part of her.  I can't think of anyone I've loved that much - no husband or lover has ever left a hole in my soul - although some of my animals have taken some of me with them.

I don't stay long since she's been ill recently and looks tired but we do make tentative plans for a music evening the following week. 

The night comes and the cozy little house rings with music and laughter - two guitars, a banjo, and of course Jean's accordion - the harmonies are sweet and the smile on her face is sweeter.  There are sad songs and silly songs and country songs.  We eat fried chicken and dirty rice and drink sweet tea in between.

Music softens the grief and sharpens the memories.