Spent the day in black, simply being there, for me and for Tiff. I didn’t cry at the funeral. The preacher talked so much about the good place that Hazel is in now, and that the little bit of pain she went through doesn’t even compare to the glory she’s in now. He was so eager, so convinced, that it must be true.
And I know he’s right.
That’s the kind of woman Hazel was. She would know when it was time, and it was time then.
That’s the kind of woman she still is, just more.
She’s the first person whom I have buried whom I don’t think of as ‘gone’. Beth is still ‘gone’, but I feel that changing. Much of my grieving yesterday was for her: for her too-short span, the thread cut from the tapestry even before the weave was clear. I am beginning to see that, even though her pattern isn’t clear, the color of her life enhances mine.
Hazel has made a thousand lives shine.