Still longing

It has been more than a year and a half since the worst day of my life, when Faye left so suddenly without saying goodbye.

My heart is slowly, unsteadily, healing. But changes come in fits and starts.

Somedays I feel like I've finally conquered that mountain. My vision is clear. My ambition is returning and energy is coming back.

And then the fog settles in again. But God is with me. And I am recovering. I will embrace life again.

But I miss her smile every day.

Yet I press on.

My best decision

I often think of Faye when I playing with Paisley (that's not her to the left, but it looks quite a bit like her. Paisley has more white fur, her ears have a different fold and her nose is black.)

In fact, I sometimes call Paisley Faye as in "stop that Faye."

But most often I find myself wondering if Faye would like Paisley.

I think she would complain, a lot, about Paisley mostly about the mess. Paisley is a professional shedder and she loves ripping stuff apart. Not furniture but thinks like plastic bags. She doesn't eat but she rips them apart.

But for all that, the things about Paisley that make me smile would make Faye smile as well. I know Faye would smile when Paisley demands a tummy rub from me. She would like stroking the velvety fur on top of Paisley's head. She would like it when Paisley would lie at her feet.

And I know she would like going for walks together.

The best decision I've made since losing Faye is getting Paisley.

A fond memory

Faye loved hospitality.

When we lived in Manitoba, just a short walk from the church, Faye would sometimes invite everybody who was available to come for Sunday dinner.

Since moving to Alberta she had to work a little harder but she did.

She would call people until she found somebody who was available. And she didn't see any of it as work.

It was a pleasure to her and it was an outpouring of her gifts. One being that she was a genuinely friendly extrovert. She wasn't afraid of the telephone and a few no thank yous along the way did not deter him.

Fond memories. And I press on.

Feeling tendernesss

Faye was embarrassed by her arthritic hands. She generally tried to hide them in photographs.

They didn't bother me. I loved her. And I loved her hands.

They symbolized, for me, her work ethic. She worked hard all her life. Hard work wasn't just something she had to do at times, it was part of who she was. She worked and she had the heart of a servant.

Nobody who ever had us over for a meal needed to ask Faye to help, she started helping from the moment we walked in the door.

And somehow those arthritic hands was a visible sign of her love of service and work. They were hardworking hands.

How I miss being able to tell she was beautiful to me in every way.

I've been blogging less of late--partly because I'm consciously trying to get busier and use my time differently. But the foundations of my new life are getting more stable--so my mindset is changing.

And I press on.