Tag Archives: sorrow


“Heaven knows we need never be ashamed of our tears, for they are rain upon the blinding dust of earth, overlying our hard hearts. I was better after I had cried, than before–more sorry, more aware of my own ingratitude, more gentle.” 
― Charles Dickens

On January 2nd, 2019 the world, for me, became a bit less joyful. On reviewing my Facebook feed yesterday evening, I noticed that an old friend, Blair Koski-Klien, had “updated her story” which intrigued me, since she’s usually not one to do so.

I was surprised to find that the update had been written by her husband, Andy and was, in fact, an announcement of her passing, in the early hours of the morning, the final pages of her story. It felt quite surreal.

His words were beautiful and summed her up so well, yet I felt profoundly saddened at the news. You see, Blair, though we were not close friends, was one of the most genuinely joyful people I have ever met. If she had personal struggles, she soldiered through them with a bright smile on her face and a twinkle in her eye.

That smile, that radiant, exuberant smile, is what I recall of Blair. Our life paths crossed for only a few years and we shared a circle of friends. I regret that I never got to know her real well. She was also a few years younger than me and though we would chat from time to time or meet socially, I must admit, I never really got to know the person. Such is life in our teens it seems.

Life continued on and our circle of friends went our separate ways. I thought of her occasionally, usually when I met someone like her, that smiling spark in the room, memories would surface, but nobody ever matched Blair. There was a contagious positive energy in her that brought life and laughter to any occasion.

Over the years, friends reconnected through Facebook and other social media and, eventually, Blair showed up. It was so nice to see where her life had taken her; to see her as a happy mother to her son, Carson, and wife to Andy. I’ve not had the pleasure to meet them, but I’m certain that her love and energy filled their home.

As I sit and consider Blair, tears fill my eyes, at the thought that this beautiful young woman has been taken from us. Today, the world feels a bit colder, a bit less joyful, and a bit emptier without her. Yet, through my sorrow, I see that face, that smile, and hear her laughter and it’s all OK again. I’m grateful to have known her for even a short time and she has made an impact on my life. My regret is not to have been able to tell her that while she was still with us, something so many of us are guilty of.

There are so many people who enter our lives, though briefly, who have a subtle yet profound impact on our lives. We may not realize it at the time but when we do, it’s important that we acknowledge it and let them know. Our time here is often brief and unpredictable and we need to let those who enrich our lives with theirs know just how important they are to us.

One of God’s bright lights has gone out, leaving us seeking it’s light, and knowing it’s still shining, unseen by us, in places we have yet to see.

RIP Blair

“Hello Yellow”

“Hello Yellow”

“Don’t be ashamed to weep; ’tis right to grieve. Tears are only water, and flowers, trees, and fruit cannot grow without water. But there must be sunlight also. A wounded heart will heal in time, and when it does, the memory and love of our lost ones is sealed inside to comfort us.”
― Brian Jacques

When I see yellow flowers lately, I think of my late father-in-law Maurice. He was a lover of yellow roses, and though roses are a few months away, the yellow tulips in my garden serve as a springtime proxy.

The tulips, as I mentioned in a previous post, come from my mother-in-law’s garden, so I’m sure Maurice had a hand in nurturing these flowers at some point as well.

There is something, a sense of life and vitality that comes from the colour yellow, something I truly miss in the dark days of winter. So, I am happy to say “Hello Yellow” when it presents itself in the warmth of spring.

Nikon D800
Tamron SP AF 90mm f/2.8 Di Macro 1:1 (272ENII)@90mm
1.6 sec, f/32.0 ISO 100

High Resolution image on 500px

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“Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad.”
― Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
“Pink Cosmos”
Two views of the same flower, a week apart.

Sometimes, I keep the flowers I photograph a bit too long but it was interesting for me to compare the two images.

It also reminded me how gradually things can change without you really noticing them.

I was debating the title of the top image, as sorrow may sound too depressing, but that is the emotion that comes over me in waves the past few days.

You see, my youngest two children, now young adults have recently moved from home in the span of a few days. One to go into college residence, not too far from home, but away, nonetheless. The other, is in third year university, and has chosen to live closer to school to save the long commute he has endured the last two years.

So, while I am happy for their growth and proud of all my children, I still experience moments of sorrow. You see, I still look back at the bright, young flower and all the happy times spent with them as children. I recall bringing each of them home for the first time. And, while they are certainly not the wilted, desiccated flower at the top, I feel I looked away a moment too long and missed the gradual transition. Yet, this reminds me that, like a garden, after a winter of transition, fresh blossoms emerge to replace last year’s beauty.

The cycle continues and ‘sorrow’ becomes a transient thing. I’m looking forward the the gardens my children have planted and continue to nurture.

Nikon D800
Tamron SP 70-200mm f/2.8 Di VC USD
 @ 155 mm
15 sec, f/22.0, ISO 200

High Resolution image on 500px:

For more images like this, please visit my Facebook page:
or my website (some images available for purchase)