She is gone now- to that place of shadow. That place of waiting. A place that requires trust on the part of those left behind. Trust that one day shadow will dissolve in blinding Light. But that day must remain sealed for a time to come.
I wrote a small poem this morning, in the not knowing interval between life’s promise and death’s finality.
“Dips and peaks.
Black and white.
All of the stereotypes change with a breath, and death is a surety- set in concrete, and sandblasted by hope deferred.”
How little did I know.