JULY 3
One evening I was leafing through a book and my eye fell
on a piece of sculpture we had often looked at together...I
sat there, staring at it in a daze, but I didn’t turn the page.
Images of the past rose up and I saw a sort of endless movie
and heard a song of victory...I felt as though I were climbing
out of a sucking marsh. I was alone in my room, but I was
filling it completely; it seemed different from the way it had
been on the other days. I had somehow gone back into gear.
I was able once again to contemplate beauty.
—ANNE PHILIPESometimes the beauty of the world seems excruciatingly
painful because we are so aware of our loved one’s loss of
that world. How can we savor the fragrances and sights of
life without a stab of pain that our loved one can no longer
have these experiences—or share them with us?
So it is a real step—and an indication of our willingness
to trust that our loved one is now in better hands than
ours—when we can reclaim our eyes and ears and sensations
of taste and touch and smell in all their fullness, knowing
that is exactly what our loved one would want for us, too.
The beauty of the world in all its fullness is mine to claim.