Something about holding a sleeping child in the midst of loss comforts beyond belief.
I know that I must be letting go of my father at the same time that I am dealing with the loss of my husband, putting him in a long term care facility which he won't leave. The finality of that personal decision seems not much different from realizing that an 89 year old dad who says "Let me go" has probably lived as much of life as he wants.
So I rock my grandchild (his great grandchild) and I smell her breath and I keep "pink bunny" near her chest and I know the cycle of life is real and wouldn't be so sweet if it lasted forever but then cycles are supposed to last forever. Round and round I feel myself spinning. I guess no one ever said each of us gets to ride that cycle.
Whitman said, "Look for me under your feet. I am the grass."
Sometimes I think I'm chafe, but today Lily, my granddaughter, held her first tiny branch of forsythia, and I am reminded that spring does finally come around and all the cliches are true.