Solitaire…

Solitaire…

I am no techno guru, I know just enough to be dangerous sometimes. I don’t have hundreds of games on my phone or thousands of songs to listen to. My phone is used for 90%  talking, texting, and taking a few pictures. I leave all the techno stuff to Kelli and Jarrett. I used to think smoke was going to start coming out of Lindsay’s phone, she had the fastest fingers I had ever seen and could reply to text before you ever sent them…that is, when she wanted to. Jarrett is a music madman on his phone and can find anything you need him to find and Kelli is a social media master. Me, I play Solitaire, and that is pretty much it. As I was was playing it today, thoughts began to run through my mind as they do with most everything I do now.

Solitaire, a game named for exactly what the definition defines, one. It is a game played by one and that one is playing against 52. Fifty two unknown opponents every time a new card is turned. The goal is to clear the deck by aligning all the cards in sequential order starting with the Ace. I am far from smart enough to generate a total for all the different combinations, scenarios or matches that it takes to complete the game, to win. The simplicity of this game is of child’s play but when compared to the fifty two weeks a year a parent deals with grief there is nothing simple about it. There are times I play this game and never get half the cards up top just like there are days I feel like I can’t breathe, can’t think, and can’t function. There are also times I play and get the entire deck cleared, like the days I can look at a butterfly or see a ladybug crawling on my truck and smile. Winning at solitaire is clearing the deck and placing the last King on top, beating grief is placing my Princess on top and remembering the smile, the laugh, and the tears.

Flipping the cards to see your next move is like opening your eyes on a new day. You breathe, you thank God for the day, and you take on grief one more time.

Winning, a never ending battle when faced with grief. There never seems to be the right combinations, scenarios or matches to put the last card on top. The fifty two cards are like the weeks in a year and every week begins a new game, a new journey, a new walk of faith that grief will not win the game.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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