There are no words to describe the enormity of our loss. My mother. The children's grandmother. And no less, at one of the worst times that one could imagine enduring such a loss.
Each day, we are putting one foot in front of the other. We are trying to pick up the pieces and continue to live. We have no choice. More importantly, however, this is what my mother would have wanted. Of that, I have no doubt.
Graham enjoyed a new book on the front lawn under a shady tree. It is the first book that he has ever ordered himself. Keeper of the Lost Cities. This is book number eight in the series, of which he has already read the previous seven. He started it last night as soon as it arrived on our doorstep. It is 789 pages and he was nearly done as I went in and turned off his reading light tonight, insisting he get some sleep. It must be good.
Miles has become a huge Coyote Peterson fan. He is a YouTube sensation (think of a millennial version of Steve Irwin, "The Crocodile Hunter,"). Catherine and Miles created their own make-believe episodes this afternoon, digging up worms and pill bugs in the front yard. Just as Coyote does, they ended each episode with his favorite tag line, "Be Brave and Stay Wild." Miles lives by those words every day as he climbs trees 15 feet into the air and jumps between branches on his recess breaks from school, nearly giving me a heart attack.
Garin made a rare appearance in the garden today. He got out and helped Catherine and me with our hours of weeding, which we broke up between the morning and late afternoon. He only pulled about 15 weeds, but he was mighty proud of himself. Catherine and I were moderately appreciative of his help, as we had fifteen fewer weeds to pull as a result. That would be fifteen minus the thousand weeds the two of us pulled, collectively.