T.S. Eliot wrote that April is the cruelest month. For me, it is probably October.

Forty-one years ago, I was off in college and received a letter from my mother that one of my high school classmates had disappeared. I called home frantic. Over the rest of the month, I received additional letters from home; newspaper clippings of the search for Rocky, followed by the bulletin from her funeral service. They never found the murderer.

Five years ago, on Sunday, Tropical Depression Eighteen formed south of Jamaica. Over the following week it gained strength and made its way up the coast as hurricane Sandy. As I was digging out after the storm, I received a Facebook message from my sister, “Aldon call me immediately”. There had been a car accident. My mother was dead.

This morning, Facebook suggested a memory from a year ago, my blog post, Good Friday Open Heart Surgery. I spoke about the discernment retreat I was about to go on with the Commission on Ministry and my hopes and fears. A week later, my greatest fear happened.

I am still putting together the pieces from each trauma