Dear Kairo, I showed Her Kindness

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I was at church this morning. I decided to sit in the garden area at one of the tables as I waited for someone. My eyes were closed, taking in the breeze, meditating, just chilling. Or so I thought.

Then this lady, we had been on the same meeting but it was the first time I had seen her, came along — oh, Jesus — and decided to make herself at home right where I was sitting. Clearly, God was testing my patience. It is Lent, after all, and the devil was trying me. She wanted to converse. She came with a lot of sheets, and I… well, I didn’t.

She: “The air is so beautiful, calm and quiet.”
Me (eyes closed, quietly): “Yes.”
She: “I wonder if the seminarian is still here.”

I was thinking, *what in the fruit-loop world is she talking about?* I didn’t reply because I had no idea who she meant. Meanwhile, the priest walked by. She asked him and got her answer. I thought that settled it. We’re done. Let me be.

Nope. Not enough.

She kept going and going and going. I would vaguely reply, ignoring her as often as I could, but then…

She: “Are you praying?”
Me: “Yes.”
She: “Oh, I am sorry.”
Me: “That’s okay.”

Now, you would think we were squared away. Case closed, right? She would move to one of the other four empty tables.

Nope.

She stayed. She put her phone on speaker and started singing because she needed to call Patricia. Oh, Jesus.

Apparently, Patricia had invited her to the 11 o’clock mass so she could hear her singing, but then she realized Patricia had already called, left her a voicemail, so no call was needed. She would call her later.

We’re done now, right?

Nope.

She went on again like the Energizer Bunny, talking about baptism, Catholicism, and other things. And all I kept praying was, “Lord, give me the chalupas… grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.” The devil was trying me hard.

I felt like screaming and telling her to shut the front door and go away — but I didn’t. I quiet the noise and patiently went along with the script.

I had options, though:

1. I could have easily moved to another table.
2. I didn’t want to make her feel bad, so I stayed.
3. I was there first and didn’t ask for company. My eyes were closed, lady. So technically, she could have left.

Next time, I’ll just run inside the church. Ciro, our pianist, was playing.

Yours in soft lighting,
Eloi Ahoy

Kaleidoscope

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Searching for the vibe, the energy, the ‘it’, the will, as life slowly begins to shift into place, put together one piece at a time like a jigsaw puzzle. Yesterday will never be again, but tomorrow may arrive with old habits left behind; perhaps it is the reconstruction of the self with a new set of wills. Some lives are forever transformed, but others return right back to where they began as they fail to understand the ride they have taken.

Yours in soft lighting,
Eloi Ahoy

Dear Kairo, My Text To Janet

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How are you, my love? What a question, right? The nerve of I asking you about your state of mind. I ask gently, knowing there are not words big enough to hold what you are feeling. There aren’t. I wish I could wrap you in the tightest embrace and let you rest there for as long as you need and tell you it is going to be ok but I can’t. No one journey is the same. There are many layers. The club comes with one distinguish membership card.
I know this road feels unfamiliar and heavy — gray, confusing, and painfully quiet. Grief changes everything. It stretches time. It makes ordinary moments feel impossible. It runs like an uncontrollable train. And yet, even here, even now, you are being held by the grace of the Almighty. When your strength feels gone, He is carrying you. Lean on HIm with gusto.
Please be so very gentle with yourself. Take all the time you need and not be apologetic for it. Cry until your tears run dry. Speak his name. Sit with the memories. Scream if you must. Run outside, go for a midnight walk — the therapy I needed. It worked that day. Breathe slowly through the waves when they come. There is no “right way” to walk through this. There is only your way — and that is enough; trust me. Lean on it.
The days may feel long and strenuous. Some will be frustrating, some confusing, some unbearably lonely, others atrocious but little by little, you will move forward one step at a time. There is that light at the end of the tunnel. One day the air will feel lighter. The grass will seem greener. The emptiness will give way to memories. You will smile and not feel guilty for it. You will find yourself again, joy — not unchanged, but still beautiful, still whole.
Until then, lean on me whenever you need to. If you need to talk, I will listen. If you need silence, I will sit with you in it. If you need someone who understands the ache, I am here. You do not have to be strong for me, no need to rewrite that script. I know it too well. You only have to be real. Remember, I have been there just a few months ago. It seems surreal.
A side note, I just want you to know I broke down for a second there when they played, I Can Only Imagine — it was the same one they played at my husband’s funeral.
I love you. I am holding you close in my heart and in my prayers. Sweet dreams.

Yours in soft lighting,
Eloi Ahoy