It still hurts. There is nothing regular about a regular day anymore. This particular day is filled with figurative voids - gushing wind and floundering fingers, a head full of wool - no matter how hard you shake it. Now we trudge along with a heart heavy with memories and an empty chest. They say it settles eventually but this whirlwind twirls high and deep. When it does settle, it is not into the dulling memory I hope for, but rather into several edgy blades of tender thoughts– at the same time soothing and piercing. It has helped to stare at the far bigger cross of Jesus, lest I become overwhelmed with mine. Besides your two little flames are comforts for which I am grateful, but a poor man’s comfort under the circumstance. As surely as the cross of Jesus gives me no excuse for hopelessness, so your two flames give me no excuse for resignation. Once again Tiny, the scriptures proves several steps ahead of both of us: “If in this life only we have hope, then of all men we are most miserable.” Thank God we will meet again.