This almost never happens, but for the next couple of hours I am alone in my house. Lyndon is not coming home this weekend, and the boys are at a youth activity at the church. It seems very quiet. I should probably do something… or not!

Pretty normal Friday here. The boys did their school work. Carter spent his time working on numbers. Colton and Tyson are both diagramming sentences (remember that?) in their English books. We finished Stuart Little this afternoon. Everyone agreed that the ending felt a little funny. Kind of unfinished. Carter came with me this afternoon to get water. He was a big help. It is nice to have an extra pair of hands, even six-year-old hands. He stood in the back of the truck and held the hose in the tank. It had been previously discovered, on a very cold day, that if one was not careful the water pressure could lift the hose out of the tank and spray water on everyone and everything in the immediate vicinity. So Carter held the hose while I plugged the loonie, and we were set.

I also spent some time pricing books that I am going to sell at the used book sale at the homeschool conference. I spent about a day going through all of my books and pulled out a bunch that I am willing to part with. So now I have to label them, price them, and record them on a form. It’s a lot of work, but I am in the mood to downsize, declutter, and generally get rid of the excess. I still have way too many books, but it’s a start. (I confess that as I was pricing, I did sneak some of the books I had planned to sell back onto the bookshelf.)

Today I read a post from a mom who lost a young son in a car accident a few months ago. I have been following this family’s journey on-line (there is a family connection) and it has been amazing and inspiring. Both the mom and the dad have written with such poignancy about their grief, their pain, their anger, their faith. I, like anyone who has been spared such a loss, can not begin to imagine the emotional depths of such a walk. God bless them.

Last summer I went to the funeral of a neighbour and his four-year-old son. The father and son were using the tractor to grade their driveway. The tractor snagged on something and flipped over backwards and they were crushed underneath. I will never forget walking up the the front of the Catholic church and looking into the casket that held both of their bodies. They lay together, the dad holding a pair of drumsticks in his hand and the little boy, curled toward his father, with a stuffed teletubbie under his arm. It makes my breath catch to remember. A mother and three children are left to carry on. God bless them.

Yesterday I read the blog of a woman whose husband was killed on his way to work two months ago. He left in the morning, after saying goodbye to his wife and five children, and he was gone. God bless them.

I don’t know for sure why these, and many other, situations stay in my mind. I guess that since becoming a mother myself, I immediately put myself in the shoes of these moms, and wonder how I would ever get through such a tragedy. I can’t even make myself contemplate the loss of one of my children or my husband. I pray that God will comfort these moms and the many others who have had to live the reality of what I can not even begin to imagine. God bless them.

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