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Daddy Dale’s Death

10:05 P.M. November 22nd, 1927. Again the evening hour is here. Again I make an effort to record something the day may have brought to me. Tonight were my little sweetheart with me now, I should try tenderly to dry her tears and ease the little ache in her heart which would be there because Daddy Dale died today. Always the best Daddy in the world to her, this is only what a father should be. Could I but only see her little dream face tonight then might I not see gladness in her eyes now. Her Daddy is passing the last long trail. How sweet her welcome will be. Oh! God! That I might only be worthy of her welcome now. It seems that I can never be. I am not fit to touch her tiny foot, else might I not be given the great adventure. I do not feel good. “Ilya toyed skuisya” 10:20 P.M.”

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10:15 P.M. November 21st, Nearing the close of another day; how short they seem when this hour of the evening rolls around. I must be in bed soon. My cold is all in the top of my head and makes it feel somewhat feverish. It will soon be better. I hold the pencil in my hand, I wonder just what it will write before this page is full? Only what my hand directs it to write. And what controls the movement of my hand? I do, or what my mind passes on to the finger tips. The thoughts come crowding in but I cannot write them all. If man could only have all his thoughts before him as they flit from one thing to another what a panorama of our inner self we might behold. And how then we might be able to pass judgment on ourselves. But they are never written. Perhaps God knows what they are. “Ilya Toyed Skuisya.” 10:30 P.M.”

(Sally here: So this has got to be one of my favorite passages of his, and mainly because I’ve been collecting “other people’s diaries” for over 30 years now. So when any of my authors talks about why they write or anything like that, I can’t get enough. He’s amazing as usual)

9:25 P.M. November 20th, Sunday will soon be gone. I have been to Greenwood. I do not feel very strong tonight. I go to bed to sleep and rest. I cannot seem to keep moving and doing always. Next Sunday will be November 27th, one year, the day when life ended for her. She now has the rest eternal. It is God’s great justice that I should live and suffer. She would not want me to do that, she would not want me to be as I am today. I have not in the smallest measure the complete and sweet understanding of life as was hers and as she gave to me each day. I am only lost. I am not fit to be near her home above. I can only take her flowers. “Ilya Toyed Skuisya.” 9:40 P.M.”

(Sally here: That is one thing that kept me going, pressing on, when I was in the depths of grief from loosing my husband. As John put it, “She (he) would not want me to do that, she (he) would not want me to be as I am today.” I kept going, kept healing because I knew that would be what he would have wanted.)

10:40 P.M. November 19th, 1927. The close of another week and the end of another day. My throat is sore. I have a little cough. I do not know whether I am sick or not and care less. It is not within my power to control the weakness of my physical being. When I die I shall be dead a long time. I know not how long I shall live. That is one thing man is certain of. I wanted to go with her nearly a year ago now but I could not. I try to be worthy of an equal share of the rest which now is hers, but I am not. In passing I might be credited with the glory of an undying devotion which death seems not a part of that, I am not worthy. There is not within me one atom of life, as life should be, that is equal to her loving sacrifice. I shall live a long time. I shall never die because I shall never be good enough. I can only go to Greenwood tomorrow. “Ilya toyed skuisya.” 11:00 P.M.”

(Sally here: John seems more depressed than ever in this entry. It might be coupled with his becoming sick. I often prayed right after my husband died, please Lord, help me not to become sick because I wasn’t sure if I could survive the grief and the sickness. But, one of the first widow’s I met after the death of my husband was Muriel. She was 10 years older than I and her husband had died 3 years earlier. Muriel ended up getting cancer and watching her go through her grief and also fight cancer; well my heart went out to that precious woman. She had such incredible strength but it was so very difficult on her, and that’s an understatement. She has since passed and is now with her spouse…..and so is John)

Sin

11:05 P.M. November 18th, 1927. I suppose I must become accustomed to the cold, to sleeping alone and having no one to help keep me warm. I am not worth being comfortable else I should not now be uncomfortable. I am only a very weak specimen of humanity. I shall never be anything else. Our actions are not always as we want them to be, for we never reach the perfection we strive to attain; it is not possible to do so in reality. We are never equal to our imagined idols of goodness-only He who rules the universe can be that. We permit ourselves to become sinful and slaves to our body, yet we only point out the sin which appears as such to us and despite the consequences of it, but we do not go so much into the cause of sin. One is not born sinful; there is always some cause of it. I may find a cause someday. “Ilya toyed skuisya” 11:20 P.M.”

(Sally here: I have to keep reminding myself that John is only a few months into his grief, his deepest grief. I think I’ve been blogging from John’s diary for a few years now and so for a brief moment while I share passages from his diary I why he is still feeling so dark but then reality hits me and I remember he is new in this world of darkness; it hasn’t even been a full year for him. My husband has been gone for almost 10 years now, which seems almost impossible for me to comprehend. But in those early months, those early years, my darkness was as great as any I can imagine. Same with my self worth….that will change John, just hold on.)

Veneer

10:25 P.M. November 17th, Not so cold tonight, yet I shall probably be cold and cannot sleep before morning. Oh, well, I have slept colder, or at least had to try to sleep under much worse conditions. I am getting older, and should not complain but it is only my part of life. And so civilization is only a sort of veneer. I guess that is about true. We often hear of the cultural veneer of some of our prominent social leaders. They act or live only as the custom demands. It is not natural, so all our civilization is the same thing in a lesser degree. Any and all of us revert back to the true stage of human instinct with which we are endowed under certain conditions. Restraint or an affected personality, each destroy our real beauty. “Ilya toyed skuisya.” 10:35 P.M.”

(Sally here: Goodness, there is so much here it’s making my head spin. John is so right and even tho this diary was written 91 years ago it is so relevant to today. If we could only see the true hearts of people; but then again it just might be too much for us to handle; I’m not sure. Still pondering…..)

Merely Puppets

I don’t always keep up on this blog as regularly as I should but I’m much better on my facebook page and my instagram page which are both under Sally’s Diaries.

11:10 P.M. November 16th, It is cold again tonight, near freezing I imagine. I get so cold near morning I cannot sleep and I’ve a comfortable bed and plenty of covers to keep me warm. There seems to be no circulation in my feet and legs and I cannot keep them warm. I have been busy today and I am glad for that but I am not pleased with what the evening brought. It is always the same, always the time comes when I am hardly worth the air I breathe, and I am always sorry it is so. Man may expect much as great blessings to come from his religious zeal; but I do not believe man is ever worthy of the sanctity which he endeavors to build about himself. We are all very much alike, merely puppets. “Ilya toyed skuisya” 11:25 P.M.”