I am reading in the book, “Bearing the Unbearable,” that grief is a process of contraction and expansion. It says that is how we grow. I’m tired of growing. I just want you to come back. Or send a secret message that the ashes I received are only burnt wood. And that you are just in a witness protection program like in the movies.
I finally took the kayak out. I thought that being in my happy place felt like I was somehow abandoning you. The day was extraordinary, much like you were. Billowy, bright, suprising, and a little bit scary. The wind was at my back on the way from the dock to my favorite place where the water lilies are now greenish-brown and sinking, but the trees around the cove were burning brightly in the early autumn sun. I saw a grey crane take flight over me and I felt your presence with me there as I quietly took in the natural order of things.
To get back to the dock, the starting point, was tough with the wind working against me. I paddled harder, with the sun now warming my face; the cold water slapping at the cumbersome orange spectacle I was sitting on. I rowed past the dock quite a distance, only so I could drift back toward it and take in the light bouncing from ripple to ripple and the rustling red leaves and the open canopy of azure blue sky.
Jonathan, I sang to you, I sang softly to the sky; September Song. Did you hear it? Please say that you did.
Please say.
....and these few precious days,
I’ll spend with you...these precious days,
I’ll spend with you.
