52 Weeks of Peace (squared) / #62 / Flower for Ursula

Yesterday I learned that a friend had died. She was the mother of one of my daughter’s childhood friends. Overwhelmingly sad, I went to the wake, hugged her family and spoke for a while to Ursula as she lay, peaceful now, in a casket, feeling that she heard me. I hope she did.

Ursula and I met at a kiddie music class. In a waiting room of mom’s before the first class, she and I gravitated to one another. I instantly liked her. Not just her Irish-British accent, but her strong, quiet warmth and her friendly spirit. Shortly after that we met again when our girls went to pre-school. The girls would play, we would chatter and make snacks and keep an eye out that the girls were sharing nicely and taking turns.

The girls went to different grammar schools, our lives became busier and we would see each other less, but as if clandestine meetings prearranged by the universe, we’d often bump into each other at the small grocery store nearby. When we did, it seemed that time would stop so we could have a good long chat right there in the jams and jellies aisle. And if they weren’t traveling to her husband’s home in Italy, she would come over for tea at Christmastime. She was one of the first to subscribe to my blog and told me many times how inspired she felt by my 52 Weeks of Peace.

We shared a connection that didn’t seem to need frequent visits, a fondness that was always apparent when we did. I looked forward to more teas together when our lives were less demanding.

This all may sound very ordinary, but ordinary takes on a whole new light when someone is gone. A light gone out too soon. And it makes me have to say: if someone has touched your heart, try to have that cup of tea together now, not later.

I send enormous prayers to her two beautiful teenage daughters and her loving husband. And I dedicate this flower to Ursula, because she loved peace, and because she was both delicate like a flower and a ray of genuine sunshine in my world. She touched my heart. She was lovely. Just a lovely human being.

Go peacefully Ursula, as you watch over your girls on wings from heaven.