The quiet places Tom Smith Betty Spiva died last week. She was my big sister here. I stepped out of the parish offices and toward the prayer garden so that I could cry alone. The tears were for Betty, sure, but not just for her.
Snow silences the world as it falls.
Like snow, death silences those we love one by one. This is a wonderful thing. We no longer hear them the way we did, but they are with us every time we fall quiet and listen. As much as we might long to hear their voices and laughter in the racket around us, they exist only where things are still and peaceful. I try to find a corner somewhere now and then to feel the presence of my parents and my brother and sister.