that old feeling is still in my leaking heart

My uncle has died. He was the husband of my father's youngest sister, and my godfather. He and his wife had three girls, each of them have children, and some of them have children, too. Their family is large and noisy and fun; I loved spending time with them. He was a dear man, bluff and funny but very approachable to a girl in the middle of the big group of cousins. I always felt special to him, from when I was a little girl to the last time that I saw him, at the family picnic. He was thrilled that I was there, held my hand as we sat and talked, and hugged me goodbye. If there's one reason I moved back here, it's for that, right there.

Perhaps it's foolish, but I thought I might get a break now for a while, you know? The last couple of months have been a blur, sometimes just lost and other times really, desperately awful. The holidays didn't really happen in a lot of ways; my cards are sitting on the coffee table in front of me, put off for another night. (Sorry!) There are two boxes yet to send out, and one to sort out details with at the Postal Service over insurance. (The contents arrived in pieces.) Anyway, I had thought, or hoped, that I was on the mend, and that as the days get longer and lighter, that I was getting a little lighter, too. Seeing more good in my life and the world in general.

My friend's brother's illness, and my medical appointment yesterday (indicating a probable need for further tests and possible surgery), and now the loss of someone I loved very much...I'm reeling again.

---

Desolate and lone
All night long on the lake
Where fog trails and mist creeps,
The whistle of a boat
Calls and cries unendingly,
Like some lost child
In tears and trouble
Hunting the harbor's breast
And the harbor's eyes.
[Carl Sandburg, 'Lost', from Poetry {March 1914}; the title quotation is by William S. Burroughs]