Here is yet another post of yours that I missed. What a bum I am! what BEAUTIFUL photos - the view out your front door; the colorful poison ivy; the cottage garden. How lovely, how idyllic, this glimpse of your life is. Moving from a place where you put down so many roots - #nostalgia and #grief, yes, but I did catch some posts of your new abode, your new yard, your "new" (but familiar) town.

And speaking of #grief, dare I publicly call attention to the recent loss of your only son.... I am heartbroken for you and thinking of you constantly. (Maybe a needed diversion from the loss of my three sisters: losing a child has to be worse than all other losses.) As a writer, I should have no end of lovely, consoling words for you, but I have none. We carry on, as we must, with a heaviness in our hearts, and if a puppy or new stray cat can make us smile, or tug our heart strings, we say bring it on - the warm fuzzies, the Being Needed, the unbearable cuteness of small, furry mammals. Hazel. Freddy. Patches. Maybe in time, more chickens. How many kittens does it take to fill a void left by a child taken too soon from us.... {{ hugs }} and "You will endure" just don't seem to be good offerings. What would be? How can I help? In my own experience, the kind words of friends (and even the well-meant but annoying words!) have made a difference. We are not alone. Others have survived tragedy and grief. It's what we do, right? I don't know. I'm still mourning three sisters (ages 19, 63, and 62), and struggling every day with the sense of loss. To lose a child! To say our lost loved one is "in a better place now," free of suffering - are we really to rejoice at this? No. We do not. But we look for what little solace we may find. "In a better place now." I hope we all meet again in these Better Places!