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10 06 2011

I was six when we moved into this house. Mom was thirty-two and movie-star gorgeous back then, with full lips and long brown hair and feisty green eyes. I remember her standing at the kitchen sink, belting jazz standards in her lusty alto. She was vivacious, strong-willed, and a bit wild, and her quiet, conservative, gentle-spirited husband — my father — adored her.

* * *

To love is to open our hearts to suffering. But what else can we do? Love is the only way to own the music.

Today at All the Church Ladies I posted some thoughts about birth and life and the way home. I hope you’ll join me there.


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3 responses

10 06 2011
Sharon O

Beautiful baby… precious gift of life.

10 06 2011
George

Thanks, Jeanne. I’m weeping because of our unavoidable shared frailty and vulnerability that comes to us joined as family.

12 06 2011
Deborah Carr

I can see why you are all undone…she is perfect. How does a heart manage to swell to bursting, without actually bursting?

Your comments are a gift. Please know I read each one with gratitude.

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