January                                                                                            Feb. 1, 2023

You showed up cold, as usual. And the depth of cold kept pelting our already wounded soul.

January, you bring the reminders of our own humanity, our own limitations here on this big planet, our deepest hurts, the breath knocked out of us and even in all of that, we live to see December.

In January, 1995 my grandmother, Lora Malone transitioned to her heavenly home. She suffered from parkinsons disease for a long time. Her family grieved her loss but her soul rejoiced to be where she was no longer in a sick bed. Her body and her caregivers were given a real freedom.  

21 years ago, my dad was taken to his heavenly home. It was a hurt like I’ve never known. A hurt that changes you. And you, January, mark that memory. A memory of my mom being alone for the first time in her life. A memory of watching her navigate an empty house. A memory of my own self and my brother flailing in our grief. The months following, I spent just trying to breathe again.

Almost on the same date a few years later, my Uncle Jim transitioned to his heavenly home. It was another pain for my family that took any wind out of the sails. I watched my cousins, his children, grieve a loss that came way too soon. A loss that wasn’t expected. His recovery was likely but he couldn’t make it happen. He was my favorite uncle, the one who really liked to have fun. January, you mark our losses.

As the years roll on, I become part of a family that January continues to mark loss.  We lost Chris and while his short illness helped prepare us for the inevitable, the reality cut so deep. To hold Mark in the hospital room while he grieved his oldest son, required a strength that only came from my Heavenly Father. God continued to give me strength to help the family. Watching his mom weighed down with grief so heavy and raw, was gut wrenching. I could do nothing but pray.

The next year, Sara, my beautiful mother in law, transitioned to her heavenly home on her and her husband’s 61^st anniversary. Watching my family grieve her loss was heavy. I grieved as well because I loved Sara and so much about her. She left a legacy of love and fun and giving. And here it was, January again. The marker of loss.

This year, Jerry, my father in law, lost his battle with brain cancer. The family was prepared for Jerry’s transition but the loss is heavy. He was proud of his family. He lived a long and full life on his own terms and he was ready. The latter months were not on his own terms and that was difficult for anyone to accept after being independent their whole life.  

One last loss, my job. My career of 15 years ended January 31, 2023. I was prepared. I will miss all my work friends as we were family. I will miss making a difference in someone’s life or work day. I won’t miss corporate America and the direction it is headed. I won’t miss the insignificance of real estate. I celebrate my new retirement label!

But January, I’m done with loss. You, yourself, played no role in these events. But you bring a dread of cold, a dread of dreary days on end, a dread of remembering our losses. January, you mark time in our humanity. It is because of you that we look to embrace the warm rays of the sun and a new hope of fresh life, again.