It is 5:19. We're waiting with fairly subdued, sleepy people for our flight to Chicago. Martin's already eaten half of his sandwich and we still have 18 hours of travel stretching in front of us. But I feel as though we could fly to China and back without much trouble--so easy is it to fly without children!
Our time at home was marked by sorrow, grace, and an astounding outpouring of love. We saw all our dear friends, ate wonderful dinners full of healing humor and good food, stayed with friends who feel like family, who mourned and laughed a lot with us.
Nancy's funeral was extremely moving, led by several Orthodox priests who sang the liturgy in English. Her grave is under the shade of a big pine tree. The whole time I was back at home, moving through her house, walking down their familiar street, loving her children, I kept seeing her face, and her gentle blue eyes were laughing and loving, just as they so often were. I continue to mourn for her, and grief catches me throughout the day at different times. Nancy was so tender that her eyes would suddenly fill up with tears spontaneously when she was talking about her children or recounting a moving book she had read. Nancy knew loss intimately and turned that grief into a desire for compassion, a wonder for the world, and gentle, quiet spirit. I hope I can do the same.
The children are doing okay, wrapped up by the love our community, the intensity of the week, and the calm, peaceful presence of John, but they will need our love especially when everyone has gone home and the house is quiet. Then Nancy's absence will ring loudly and we will have come into that space and help to fill it.
We'll board soon, and at the end of this day, we'll be with family again in the San Juan Islands. Thank you to all our dear friends, and to our wonderful family for caring for our three daughters.
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