"Remember the sabbath day, to keep it holy. "

That commandment came to my mind as I finished writing to Tracey Van de Vyvere, Bert's daughter, this morning. Her son, Ian, was diagnosed with melanoma about a year ago, but I didn't hear about it until her sister Lisa emailed me this week to say that the original cancer had metastasized to such an extent that Ian was in great pain and had recently been going back and forth between the hospital and hospice. She told me about a parade of special cars that had been organized to drive past the hospital especially for him. Cars have been his passion since he was very young. He still is far too young to be enduring so much pain. I watched a video of the parade and forwarded it to Jay. We were both moved by the way Ian and Tracey spoke on the video. I wrote to Tracey to let her know that we were thinking of them and hoping for the best. But I have since heard back from her that they have been told there is no hope of Ian's survival. The medical staff is doing its best to ease his pain and the family is with him giving him all the love they can to help him in his passage out of this life and into the unknown. 

It is Sunday as I write this. I don't know why that commandment came into my mind unless it is because as I sit here I realize that we do need to take time now and then to do nothing and let what is inside out. I often end up writing in such moments. When I begin I don't know what I'll write about, if anything. I discover by writing it down that it is meaningful me. At times, as now, the process makes me cry and gives me a momentary headache. But once it's down in words I feel a bit relieved. Even I, whose life has been comparatively easy, need some means of lightening the weight of living: rewarding work, time spent with family and friends, getting outside in nature or just taking moments to rest and write and let whatever's inside out. 

When the agony of this time slowly diminishes, I hope that Tracey and her family will have moments of rest and somehow find peace.