This is last week’s One Year of Letters entry.
July 27th, 2016
At my uncle’s memorial service, I saw grief hollow my cousins’ eyes. I recalled these people as the beautiful children with whom I spent countless hours playing every game we could think up. All mourning begins as an internalagony, and although I couldn’t intrude on theirs, I wanted to ease their pain. Before taking my seat, I stumbled over condolences and embraces while feeling deficient.
During the service, the pastor asked, “When your time comes, what will people say about you?”
I considered. I know what I’d like those who knew me to say, but did I measure up to my hopes?
I spend time worrying about finances. I haven’t enough put away to provide for my children’s futures. This leads to anxiety, which I’m ashamed to…
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