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Rob’s brother Chris passed away earlier in the month after a long illness and two days before his 77th birthday. Our son Clarke was born in December too like his uncle (and just like Jesus 😌). We have been mourning and celebrating simultaneously.

Soon after Chris’s death I remember deeply appreciating what we do in church when we lose a loved one. For one thing, I leaned into prayer in community. I regretted that Chris’s immediate family did not have the close support of clergy, these professionals who know the traditions surrounding Life and Death.

Slowly we’re creating our own rituals. Chris’s wife enlisted the funeral home for help, and comfort too. Now that the initial sorrow of his passing and the dust of the holiday are settling, we can choose to use their obituary-memorial page…or not.

Over the years given the inherent joy and grief of extended family, we have developed our own practice: Reid Family Christmas. We had established the date when most of the locals could come before Chris died. We were hoping he’d make it, of course, but instead Brother Rick and his family from Michigan surprised us. They made plans to visit a few days before the event, staying til Christmas Eve.

Our RFC gathering was not an official memorial service, true. And yet, it was every bit as mystical. Chris’s son Elliot read a eulogy. Special readings about solstice-time and friendship were interspersed. The annual slide show, with contributions from all, included more photos and comments about Chris than about anyone else. Brothers Dan and Matt (plus recently-deceased cousin Scott) showed up too.

Who could have imagined that Rick and Rob would be the last ones standing of these five Reid boys?

As autumn has unfolded, I have thought frequently of Pilar. She stayed with us recently, for The Twelve Days of Music. Pilar is gorgeous, inside and out. Today is her birthday.

On Sunday, our choir director asked us to sing as if we were opera singers. I knew what he meant because, while she was here, Pilar accompanied opera star Soledad at a house concert in our home. Their joint visit was nothing short of magical and not unlike big international traveling for all of us. Pianist Pilar from Paris and Soprano Soledad from Santiago swept us off our feet day after day. Our century-old piano sang. And I sang on Sunday, remembering them.

Since retiring I have struggled off and on with a sense of purpose. I pace myself as friends and family age around me, wondering how I will possibly have energy to continue living and loving fully.

And then those dozen days landed relatively gently around me. Our kids, Clarke and Carolina, arrived to help. Super agent man César traveled along too. These three C’s were stellar stage and kitchen family. Mom was delighted to join in the lunch rehearsal. My sole job was to welcome and enjoy, and introduce my friends to each other. This is Bridging. This is my life’s work.

*Photo by Soledad Mayorga Maldonado

I have a recurring dream of swiping a bus then never crashing it or even getting caught. That’s why I asked Carolina to take this photo. I have no idea who the guy is. Usually the bus in my dream is much bigger and fancier. My birthday celebration was like this: Wild. Fast. Fun.

I’m glad it was only for three days.

Now I’m home again, alone in the blue room, reflecting. Calm. Super well.

And oh-so-grateful.

Bassam Aramin was interviewed yesterday on the BBC News Hour. This Palestinian spoke along with Robi Damelin, an Israeli; both parents lost their children to violence in the Middle East years ago. I met Bassam when I was there in March of this year. He told us about the Parents Circle Families Forum.

When I heard his voice on the radio, I pulled over off the road so I could safely listen to every word and weep.

This morning I heard a homily about when the child shall play over the hole of the snake, in peace (Isaiah 11:1 -9).

I nodded to God, “Ok, I will write more as you lead me.”

Anxiety takes many forms. The other day I spoke with a friend who chooses the tight spins of ruminating. Oh God, do I know them well.

We started listing some of the strategies we might try instead to knock us off the loop of the same old same old:

Do something, anything, physical. Walk. Ride a bike. Stretch. Do yoga.

Talk out loud to myself or someone else or even God. What a concept.

In the spirit of minimizing harm, chew ice or gum, instead of numbing with drugs or alcohol or eating everything in sight.

Write…maybe a playlet with dialogue between parts of myself?

Do something for someone else. Write a card. Make cookies and freeze them until delivery is possible.

Create a Vesuvius with my body. Tear up a phone book or the like. Growl.

Take a hot (or cold) shower or bath. Play music. Light candles.

Make a mix to match my mood. Dance to it.

Sing. Whistle. Play an instrument.

Just be unsettled. Accept it. Breathe. Rest in being.

Deliver self-touch which comes in many forms…maybe try Reiki?

If procrastinating is contributing, see if I can act on a concerning issue. Do the damn pros and cons chart if I must.

Pray (there it is again).

Etc.