Gravity

The past reaches out to me on a pristine riverbank in remote Wisconsin. I know that the girl I look back upon is the same woman standing here today. Puzzling to me today, however, is the how of her arrival. In the midst of those years, she never fully knew of any plan or determination she had. In large part, she hadn't a clue what she was doing, only that she was doing whatever she had to in order to survive. Maybe it was coincidence, nothing more than the passage of time. Maybe it was God. Eight desperate and full years have gone in a flash. There are these moments I must dedicate to pause, silent. Reflective. It's like I wake up every year on this day, standing inside of a life I almost lost, saying to myself, "How on earth..."

The gravity of the day is never lost to me. As I stand on the riverbank today, the difference is that now my heart rests above the heavy grief of the past rather than being crushed beneath it. There is a definite weight over me, a sense of being pulled back in time. Every piece of my being becomes acutely aware of this place. The sound and shape of the water as it meanders around the rocks. The sound of the wind in the leaves, the way they float downward. I close my eyes, and the peace that I feel in this place now calls forth my tears as I recognize the cycle of life. This is my life now. It is often harder than it had to be because of choices made, but it truly is beautiful. It takes an active, daily choice to remember this - and it's always worth it.

I am typing tonight off the scribbles I wrote on a scrap of paper yesterday as I made my sojourn. Now, at the bottom, I see a scribble written last weekend in San Diego: "Wave in...out, crumbling sand." The vastness of the ocean, its power and unpredictability, framed against its beauty, stops me short. This is life: vast, powerful, and unpredictable...always beautiful, always worth it. The waves were crashing in against my feet, one after another. I noticed that as the next wave pushed its way in to shore, the previous was pulling me back out to sea. As it did this, I felt the sand crumble beneath my feet.  The analogy becomes that I am ever-drawn back to reflect on the past, while always pushed forward to an untarnished future. I never know when a foundation I've built will crumble. But "it's just life," as Derek used to so wisely remind me, "What are you so afraid of?" I will love, hurt, and falter. We all will. But I know now that I will stand.

Thank you, my friend, for the gift that your life was...and remains.

(With credit to my sister, who knows how to capture a moment...)