Eleven o’clock and all’s well at the East Gate

I should have claimed sleep an hour ago but conversations still pended and emotions roiled.  Now I have quietened my soul. I think about Joanna who inspired this blog by her selfless acceptance of those around her. I have not visited her resting place for several weeks.  I have been traveling and I have also been daunted by the rain.  But I think of her.

By and by, I shall fetch a dozen of the roses which she loved so much, and I will lay them on her stone.  I will say, Oh, Joanna, I miss you so.  And then I will run my fingers on the headstone beside hers, beneath which the ashes of my favorite curmudgeon rest.  I will say, Jay, you old so-and-so, I didn’t bring you a cocktail.  And I will picture him smiling.  He would reply, It’s okay, honey, I know you love me.  He did say this to me, many times in his final weeks, the last time in a raspy voice two days before he passed.

It’s eleven o’clock, at the east gate to paradise, and all is well.



One thought on “Eleven o’clock and all’s well at the East Gate

  1. Theresa

    Sweet sentiments. They must have been extraordinary people and I am so glad you had them in your life.


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