![]() I walk alone now, yet not alone and if I can light the way for others from time to time, well, perhaps my life will have counted for something important in the end.How to Unlock Light Subclasses in Destiny 2 Completing the “Stoking the Flame” quest will unlock the Solar subclass. I’m called to be a light in a dark place, too and if I sometimes wax poetic about it, that doesn’t mean I expect you just to melt. But in the middle of the night, when all is dark, a candle may mean the difference between life and death. In the daytime, it’s nice to have a candle it flickers pleasantly, and it gives off a pleasing aroma, usually something with notes of apple. “No, Fluffy! Don’t initiate a global conflagration!” But, occasionally, we could use one with care. There are days of hope and days of despair, but the former are ever so slightly beginning to outnumber the latter now.ĭiane also liked scented candles - this doesn’t fit the metaphor, since she didn’t stitch by candlelight - although we couldn’t light them often because of the cats. I don’t know how to describe how that began to change for me, though slowly, it has begun to do so. I’d stitch something together, and it would fall quietly apart. I’d attempt something, and it would fail. It has taken me time to believe, once again, that my life - counts I realize that a problem with choosing a metaphor for an essay is that it starts to take over, but I don’t write these essays. That’s difficult other grievers likely have experienced it, too. At the end of each day, I’m sometimes satisfied with what I see emerging but at other times, it seems to be heading nowhere. It’s taken me a long time to begin to see that there is a pattern worth having and the process can be so very slow. It was only chaos and, for a long time, whenever I would try to establish one, it was always the wrong stitch in the wrong place. When Diane died, I felt as if there was no longer any pattern to my life. “Look, this might be a cat!” It’s hard to tell, though one always hopes for a cat. The difficulty for us, who live in the middle of an unfinished project, is that we can’t always understand the darker colors and we don’t see the pattern (yet), though there are perhaps some dim suggestions we can perceive. A picture made up of just one color would not be particularly impressive. Well, God is completing a picture, too and to shift the metaphor slightly, there are different threads to the story. Everything about her was much to be admired and I miss her every day. “There, that completes that stitch,” she’d say. She’d laboriously thread it onto the needle, another procedure that would have driven me to despair, and set to work. “Get me some more of the 208,” she’d say, and I’d fish it out from beneath the paws of the cat. They were numbered, using a complex system that made no sense to me. I’d type, and she’d stitch, and the cats would purr it made a harmonious whole.ĭifferent colors of floss, which were kept in a skein (these technical terms escape me), were of course required to complete a project. But opposites attract, apparently, and she was wonderful. This would have driven me crazy I like writing, an activity in which one merely opens a Chromebook, and out comes an essay. ![]() Placing stitches at random doesn’t work, though sometimes she’d make a mistake and would have to remove a stitch, laboriously. Each stitch had to be placed precisely where it belonged, following the pattern there’s always a pattern. But to live in the messy complexity of the present moment, with its half-completed processes, is difficult for me.īut each day she’d unfold the cloth - there’s your metaphor - and would select a certain shade of thread, or floss as it’s technically called, though I don’t know quite why, and set to work. So I tend to live in the past, where things that are complete can be remembered or, sometimes, in the future, where things that may one day be completed reside. I would never have had the patience for it, but she did she’d work laboriously for hours, and then stop for the day, and I’d think, “But there’s so much blank space left!” By temperament, I like to look ahead to the finished product. My Diane of the generous heart liked counted cross-stitch. It will be interesting to see how it unfolds and that leads me to a metaphor. This essay came to me in the middle of the night and it insisted on being written so I’m going to make an attempt, though I may fail. Sometimes, the most important things are the hardest to say simply.
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