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I watched Andrea Bocelli live, singing from the Milan Cathedral. I cried through it. And sent out what prayers I could to succor this world in its grief.

My far flung family is well: one son and his wife live in Florida; one son here in Kansas City; my grandson, an emergency room nurse in San Diego, has just been deployed to New York City. One sister lives in New Mexico, two sisters and my brother live in Hawaii, youngest sister lives in Oregon. We have a family of healers. I do not need to mourn my family, but I mourn this world.

We are all elders in one age bracket or another. My youngest sister just turned 60, my oldest nearing 80. And so by grace or good genes or something, we are all well.

But I mourn this world. There is so much grief circling the globe.

Does the Earth, living body that it is, need to shrug from time to time and wake us all up? We forget how precious life is, sometimes. The Texas bluebonnets, erupting in a blaze of blue in my front garden only three weeks ago have spent themselves. They only bloom every two years, so I won’t see them again until 2022. That seems a long time in coming.

All life is so transient, and yes, we know that, but we forget to embrace each day. We forget to check in with one another.

And so, I am checking in with you, my online family with hopes for your health and with reminders that as we walk this strange journey, we both walk it alone and with others. So choose your path, stick to the sunny side. That’s where you’ll find the bluebonnets along with left over last year’s leaves.

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