There’s no getting around it, I had a terrible morning. What happened? Nothing, nothing at all it seemed, but my whole inner being was caught in some noxious web. I woke up at five, and read about Poland for a little while before convincing myself to get up and begin writing.

I wandered through emails, and then some news sites, finding my mind not wanting to drift towards prose. Around six I started anyhow, reading through my work of yesterday and adding a few sentences. I felt like a fourth grader asked to do a composition on an uninteresting subject. My few sentences were stilted and awkward, I had in my head the plan for the day, only I had literally nothing in me to get there. Everything seemed frozen, uninspired. There was a weight on my soul which drove me to distraction.

I surfed the net, played minesweeper, sat and stared at a squirrel. I tried to pray for a moment or two, there was a fog, heavy and thick. All morning, even as I berated myself for my lack of focus and effort, I felt only the pull of going back to bed, not to sleep, but to give up on the day.

Tears were coming into my eyes whenever I would let my mind be free; unbidden, unfocused beads forming at the edges of my eyelids. What did I feel specifically? The word which popped into my head was ‘foreboding’, a heavy grief for some unnamed evil or tragedy which I knew would eventually name itself. I hopped around the internet trying to find the announcement of some terrible event.

I turned on the television. I never do that during the day, but today I did, looking first at the news stations, then finding a first season rerun of ER somewhat captivating, and thinking how much better it was written then, more methodical, slower paced… and thinking all of television was better back then. I crawled under my covers and watched tv, letting my eyes drift outside where a cool breeze makes my shamrock windsock dance a hearty jig, and causes all the branches to bounce in steady rhythm.

But nothing in me stirred to retake this day. I sat there wallowing in a mellow discontent which poured over me like a thick syrup.

I got up for a moment to check my email, to check again the news.

There was a message in my inbox. A good friend of mine, who I don’t see often but who I respect more than just about anyone I know… his mom died this morning at six.

I don’t think I ever met her. But I know him, and I know the feeling in my heart which seems to feel this grief profoundly. A great light has left the world, death has once again given its evil sting. Shadows fall all around, a mighty heart and soul departs. Her life echoes strongly in her children and her life continues in eternity where all is whole and wonderful. Still, the knell of death rang out among us, and even the angels shed tears on her behalf. The Spirit moves in the hearts of the Body to share the pain which came this morning.

I know this, for my soul tells me strong. Dorothy Hill has gone to her Lord and Savior, and heaven welcomes a new saint. I pray her children feel the peace of God’s grace and are filled with the hope and light of the Spirit who moves in all things.