Words fail me.

This morning I feel a profound sense of sadness. The sun is shining and I am drinking coffee out of one of my very favorite blue bird cups. But the thought of sun shine and birds only makes me more sad because these are things that my aunt loved.

Today I will travel north to attend her wake and, tomorrow, her funeral. A few days ago she lost her fight with Luekemia. She was 49 years old. In my mind's eye, I see her smile. I see her sense of hope, her determination to live. I see her love for the natural world--for rain and deer and water. I see her loving her kids and growing huge gardens. I see her strength and sparkle.

I am afraid to see my uncle's sadness now that she's gone. Of all my aunts and uncles, they were the ones I was closest to. I feel the weight of her not being here anymore. I feel it so strongly that I have avoided writing about it here. Her death creates an enormous crack in my foundation.

The other day I came across a photograph that a dear friend gifted to me. It is of a birdcage hanging near the sea with its door open. In the threshold of the door is a single feather and the cage is slightly tilted as though blowing in the wind. I look at that photo and think of my aunt. I imagine the door of her heart being opened and out she flew.

My aunt has been set free and I find that profoundly beautiful.
It's just that I already miss her dearly--in a way that words are unable to touch.

Photo by Maddie, a beautiful friend and very talented photographer.

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