♥ the art of losing isn't hard to master.

for as long as i can remember, my sunday afternoons

 looked something like this:

my mom, aunt, grandmother and uncles hanging out in the kitchen,

gossiping and drinking coffee while my sisters, brother and visiting

cousins ran around playing all sorts of games, occasionally throwing a

paper airplane into the room asking one of the "adults" to take us

shopping, or to serve as a judge in a dance competition, 

or audience to one of our many plays.

days like those were once so typical, so predictable, so reliably 

regular that i never realized how special they were until i

grew up and lost many of the beloved family members 

that made those times so much fun.

this weekend, my favorite uncle passed away,

leaving a big hole in our hearts that could only be filled

with his loving presence, his terrific sense of humor, and his 

delicious cooking. my unckie made even the most ordinary of days 

into something extraordinary, and i am so sad that henry will

not get to know just how "great" his great uncle was.

"there is little to remember of anyone- an anecdote, a conversation at table.

but every memory is turned over and over again, every word, however chance, 

written in the heart in the hope that memory will fulfill itself, and become flesh,

and the wanderers will find a way home, and the perished, whose lack we

always feel, will step through the door finally and stroke our hair with 

dreaming, habitual fondness, not having meant to keep 

us waiting so long." 

~marilynne robinson, housekeeping

“normal day, let me be aware of the treasure you are. let me learn from you, love you, 

bless you before you depart. let me not pass you by in quest of some rare and perfect tomorrow.

 let me hold you while  i may, for it may not always be so. one day i shall dig my nails into the earth,

 or bury my face in the pillow, or stretch myself taut, or raise my hands to the sky and want, 

more than all the world, your return.” 

~ mary jean irion