The Bitter with the Sweet

Mid-afternoon the call came from Bob & Cherie (parents of the bride) that they were 10 minutes from our location -- did we want to meet them at Miguel's for a bite to eat. We knew they were driving through our community -- west all the way from Texas to Long Beach here in California.

The two of us had been to church but hadn't yet changed into grubby clothes and hadn't yet eaten lunch. "Yes!" "We'd meet them at Miguel's."

Three evenings ago, immediately following the candlelight Christmas Eve service, Mr. Fun's cellphone rang. Bob was calling to to tell us that Cherie's mom, Wilma, had died that afternoon in her home in Long Beach, California. Wilma had been taking a nap on her sofa and never woke-up.

We knew instantly that Bob & Cherie's Christmas holiday was spinning out of control.

On Christmas afternoon we phoned them--the 2 of them were in the car, driving across Texas, headed for Southern California. We phoned them the day after Christmas (yesterday) and they were still driving across Texas (it's a big, big state) but they were nearing the border. They slept last night in Phoenix, Arizona. Now they are in Long Beach.

This afternoon, as the 4 of us ate and talked, there were tears and laughter. Cherie's mom, Wilma, was 86 years old. At the wedding she seemed healthy, well, and full of spunk. She had been a widow for 20 years. No one suspected that less than 3 weeks after the wedding, her life on earth would end.

So Cherie & Bob have a funeral to plan and their 3 daughters and their husbands and kids will be flying here in a day or so. When we said goodbye to all of them early in December at the end of that joyful wedding weekend, we never dreamed we'd be seeing them again so soon for such a sad occasion.

The photo above reveals that we had a good time with Bob & Cherie this afternoon. This evening I feel wrapped in sadness. The gray cold day, I'm sure, contributes to my emotion.

This has not been a celebration blip, but I am confident that this week we'll all celebrate Wilma's life and we'll find the gold thread that, at this moment, is hidden in the gray.

Good night from Southern California.
Rosie (& Mr. Fun), aka Carol

P.S. I am reminded of a popular song from our youth days sung by The Byrds, written by Pete Seeger, but originally written by the Jewish King Solomon:

To everything there is a season,
A time for every purpose under heaven:

A time to be born,
and a time to die;
A time to plant,
and a time to pluck what is planted;
A time to kill,
and a time to heal;
A time to break down,
and a time to build up;
A time to weep,
and a time to dance;
A time to cast away stones,
and a time to gather stones;
A time to embrace,
and a time to refrain from embracing;
A time to gain,
and a time to lose,
A time to keep,
and a time to throw away;
A time to tear,
and a time to sew;
A time to keep silence,
and a time to speak;
A time to love,
and a time to hate;
A time of war,
and a time of peace.