Monday, March 27

Another season, another reason...

It is quiet in here this morning. It's still dark outside. It's my favorite time of day, working and waiting for the sun to come up. I'm at my most productive then, writing the words that have held themselves back over the weekend. Usually I have my Monday post finished by Sunday night, but last night at 11:00, I was muttering that I hadn't even started it.

So here I am.

Sunny Holtzlander and Kelly Makin
We lost a friend Friday. A smart funny woman who left us much too young. Her nickname was Sunny and it fit her absolutely from the laugh you couldn't help joining in with to the color of her hair. Duane and I had both seen her recently, shared hugs with her, received benefit of her laughter and her joy. It is hard to grasp that she is gone. Everyone who knew her--and there were a lot of them, many of them much, much closer to her than we were--feels bereft.

If she knew I was having trouble writing because she is on my mind, she would laugh and wave a hand dismissively and tell a funny story.

Years ago, I blogged that "until you love somebody or something, you can’t grieve losing them." I said that grief was a gift. I still think that, because you've already had the gift of loving. 

Even with that, though, I've also always thought that losing someone leaves a great, gaping hole in your heart, but it really doesn't, does it? Your heart stretches to accommodate whoever you invite into it and that space remains theirs even when they're gone. It's full of memories, a delicious warm spot in the occasional coldness of living.

A line from a duet Sunny and Duane sang says, "Another season, another reason. For makin' whoopee." I guess it was time for her to change seasons, but I'm sure she's creating wonderful whoopee in heaven.

Normally, I would say Rest in Peace about now, but I doubt there will be rest with Sunny. There will be laughter and joy and...yeah, lots of sunshine. I'm so glad to have known her.

Have a great week.






18 comments:

  1. I'm so glad you can put it into words but I can't seem to find them! Thank you, Liz!

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    1. Thank you. I don't think I did her justice.

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  2. We lost a sweet lady who attends one of our parish churches, and even though I've only met her a handful of times, she had one of those personalities that made you feel is if you'd known her for years. Our choir sang at her funeral Mass on Saturday, and the tributes from her son and one of the deacons were humorous and very touching.

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    1. How blessed we all are to have known people like Sunny and your friend.

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  3. I am sorry for your loss, Liz...Sunny sounds like an amazing person to have still living on in your memories.

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  4. So sorry about Sunny--I remember seeing her in a play at Ole Olsen--she was delightful! I love your thought that the heart stretches to accommodate...so it does. Hugs, sweetie.

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    1. Thanks, Nan. She absolutely was delightful.

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  5. Hugs!! Isn't it odd how we call it "loss," when death puts the weight of grief on our shoulders and hearts?

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    1. It is heavy, too, but better than not knowing the person we loved in the first place.

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  6. I had a bad typo. I thought you did Sunny justice because I felt like I got to know her just by reading your post. Love and hugs!

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    1. Thanks, Margie. You'd have loved her, guaranteed.

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  7. Liz, a simple thank you. Your words made me smile.

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  8. I'm sorry you last a friend. Your sentiments about love and loss ring true.

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    1. Thanks, Patrice. I'm glad you came by.

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  9. I'm sorry to chime in so late, Liz. And I'm sorry you lost a dear friend. Your writing made me feel as if I knew her, too.

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    1. Thanks, Jana. I hope everyone's lucky enough to have a Sunny in their lives.

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