As you know, if you’ve been reading my posts so far, August is my annual reminder of endings. My son died 18 years ago tomorrow, my marriage died 11 years ago tomorrow, and my ex died two years ago on the the 31st. It’s no wonder death is on my mind.

Today is my dead son’s 18th birthday, and we’re praying the Sorrowful Mysteries. Wednesday is the 18th anniversary of his death when we’re praying the Joyful Mysteries. That, in a nutshell, is the story of my life. The joy always comes mixed with sorrow—and glorious potential.

The central mystery of the Joyful Mysteries is the Nativity. The birth of Jesus, Mary’s creation. It also happens to be THE mystery that is most fraught for me.

I’m going to tell you a little about my journey with Mama Mary. I grew up Catholic. I heard a lot about Mary over the years. I think I got my first rosary beads at 6. I loved them, but mostly because I thought they would make a pretty necklace. Anytime we said the rosary in Catholic school, I was bored out of my mind.

I find it difficult to look at my Facebook feed these days—and Twitter? Fuhgeddabout it. It seems everywhere I look, someone is mocking, pointing fingers, and yelling at someone else, blaming them for everything wrong in the world today—and there is plenty wrong in the world today.

Day 1 of a new novena, and my petition is “help me to know that miracles are mine. When I started praying the rosary, I asked for my heart’s desire—the big, impossible ask, the one I hardly dared think about. Of course, I didn’t get it—right away. What I got was the next step illuminated before me.

Yesterday I left you at a pretty bleak place in my story. Yesterday we prayed the sorrowful mysteries. Today we pray the glorious mysteries—it’s time to tell you about the miracle.

What to write for Easter Sunday? I debated about it. Today we are asked to pray the sorrowful mysteries in the Way of the Rose novena, but today is also the celebration of the Resurrection, which is a glorious mystery.

I really didn’t enjoy pregnancy. The week before Zane was born, Bill said, “Aren’t you glad you’ll never have to be pregnant again?” Instead of relief I felt a rush of fear. Despite the fact that I was 41, hated pregnancy, and knew I only wanted two children I couldn’t agree. What came out was, “I don’t think I’m ready to say that yet.”

The rosary is a circle that asks us to always look at the long story, not just the immediate circumstances. Today is my mother’s birthday; she would be 98 years old if she were alive today. She, too, suffered the loss of a child. My brother Charlie was born with a hole in his heart before the era of routine open-heart surgery. He made it to 28 before his heart gave out. Though our stories were very different, engendering different kinds of challenges, both of us were able to heal. I hope that the following is helpful to others who either face a similar challenge themselves or are close to…