Death Comes Again

Just learned that Blond Bombshell #4's ex Mother In Law passed away this morning. I never met her personally, but I knew BBD#4's husband, & the bite of fresh grief is there, ripping open wounds that have hardly begun to heal less than a month since my Beloved Darlin' went Home to the Creator. Just think about the enormity of losing 2 Mothers, 2 Grandmothers, within 30 days...and both were named Regina.

BBD#4's children & grandchildren were close to their paternal Grandmother, as we were estranged from them for the last 17 years. They still plan to attend my darlin's memorial this Saturday, as their newly-passed Grandmother's ceremony will be Friday. So I take solace that we will try to retie bonds in face of loss & trust the Creator to weave them strongly once again.

As I heard the news of fresh tears, a song was playing on the AIROS stream: "Speak To Me Grandma" ©1992 by Jack Gladstone
This song touched me, as another timely gift from the creator:

"This song was written at the Babb, Montana schoolhouse on the morning of my Indian grandmother’s funeral. It was really an amazing gift that went smoothly from spirit to pen in only 14 minutes. It is dedicated to the awakening within us of the sanctity of oral tradition within the family."

"Speak to me Grandma I’m alone in my thoughts
Speak to me Grandma You’re at home with the thought...
There’s a wind blowing off the top of Divide
Through the valley of our old St. Mary
You have thrice earned the rest that you’e got
And the cross your fingers carry to beyond...
Now, I really can’t believe that you’re gone.

Speak to me Grandma, stories blossom in you
Speak to me Grandma legend blended with truth.
And your words brushed a portrait for us
In the Valley of our old St. Mary
Your eyes were the light for us
When our bodies couldn't carry us beyond...
Now, I really can’t believe that you’re gone.

You felt the buffalo go
You heard the stagecoach roll
You saw booming Altyn rise and fall
You rode your pony upon
Moccasin Flat at century’s dawn
The trails became roads
and the roads became old...
We listened to the stories that you told.

You wed a man from the north
Then ten fine children came forth
Alex still is your groom.
You were the center of us.
Still in our valley we trust
The vision of St. Mary
appeared upon the lake
And leaves me in this fast-closing wake.

Speak to me Grandma I’m alone in my thoughts
Speak to me Grandma You’re at home with the thought...
There’s a wind blowing off the top of Divide
Through the valley of our old St. Mary
You have thrice earned the rest that you’ve got
And the cross your fingers carry to beyond...
Now, I really can’t believe that you’re gone.

There’s a wind blowing off the top of Divide
Through the valley of our old St. Mary
You have thrice earned the rest that you’ve got
And the cross your fingers carry to beyond...
Now, I really can’t believe that you’re gone.

No I really can’t believe
It’s so hard to imagine.

I really don’t believe that you’re gone."

I offer my gift of new tears, & prayers that the Creator hold all our family close, & bear BBD#4, her children, & her children's children across this vale of loss & grieving.

The beat of the drum ties us to the earth, to the heartbeat of the world, to the life force of the Creator...let us all dance in His way.