I’m waiting for the sun on a Sunday morning. The forecast is for rain, but it isn’t raining here, now. Across the highway, and further still across some fields, suburban lights glitter low on the horizon. This is no wilderness, although the trail I’ll walk feels at least a bit remote, down along the Tualatin river. Daybreak is approaching. Soon. In the meantime, I sit with my thoughts, listening to passing cars and the ring, zing, buzz of my tinnitus. It’s a quiet morning and at least for now, my tinnitus is the loudest thing I hear.
Daybreak on a cloudy morning.
A break in the clouds reveals the blue of the morning sky. Daybreak is not helpful for walking, this morning. Anyway, I am still waiting for the park gate to open. The lower marsh trail I can reach from this parking space just outside the park is seasonal, and off limits until May. Frankly, some mornings (many), it’s tempting to walk the seasonal trail anyway, although it is off limits this time of year, but doing so would come with additional risks; it’s a lowland trail along the edges of the marsh, often muddy and sometimes flooded in spots. It would be just a bit more stupid to walk it in near darkness than I prefer to be. Also, these sorts of community spaces rely on people following the rules in place to protect them (both the spaces and the people using them), to maintain their beauty for years to come and new generations.
… So, I wait…
Waiting, watching, being.
I sit with my thoughts, enjoying the stillness. It’s a mild Spring morning and a good one for walking. The cloudy sky hints at rain. I’m glad I spent time in the garden yesterday. Between the gardening and the weather, it definitely feels like Spring here. I’m grateful for the change of seasons. Another new beginning.
I feel a poignant sorrow that my recently deceased dear friend missed the coming of Spring. No tears. I have the sense that she “chose her time”, and I can only honor her memory and respect her choice. I’m okay; we are mortal creatures. I’m fortunate to have shared so much time with her.
It’s time to begin again.
The park gate opens with a quiet “clang”. There’s enough light to see the trail. The day and this walk are ahead of me, and that seems like a worthwhile direction to go…
I’m taking an afternoon break. I pretty much had to; my brain started shutting down. I found myself staring intently into the distance without seeing anything, just sort of attracted to the light. My mind was still – too still – and my thoughts were vacant abstractions and vague ruminations. “Cognitive fatigue”. I recognize it when I feel it. I got up, stretched, moved around some. Drank some water. Made a cup of tea, which sits here, half-consumed though I don’t recall actually drinking any of it. I feel… disconnected. Disengaged. Something like, but not quite, sleepy…
…Fucking hell, I’ve got shit to do… don’t I? I sigh outloud. (I sound frustrated and impatient with myself.) I have been trying to “shake it off” for some minutes, now. I suppose I could “give in to it” and lay down on the couch in the lounge space of the office, where I’m working today, only… I already know I would not sleep, even a little. I’m not actually “sleepy”. My mind is tired, yes. My body? Not so much. Hell, I went to bed early last night, slept more or less through the night, woke mostly pretty well-rested (although rather groggy)… what the hell is this shit?? “I don’t have time for this!” I protest internally, knowing it won’t do any real good… that’s not how one overcomes fatigue. lol
…I try taking a short walk and getting some fresh air…
This has been a peculiarly intense work week. Not bad, and for sure I’ve gotten a lot done, and most of that well-ahead of required timing or deadlines. Nice problem to have, I guess. There are no holidays with long weekends in March. None in April on our work calendar, either… Memorial Day in May feels a long time away, and I find myself wondering if it is time to go camping, or head to the coast for a couple days of quiet time reading, writing, and walking the beach…? I know my Traveling Partner is super bored at home, as he continues his recovery; he’s finally starting to feel more himself as his injury heals, and this will soon mean he doesn’t need as much help from me on day-to-day basics supporting him. Am I just… tired? It’s a lot to handle, and he’s incredibly kind and gracious and careful not to overburden me (I’ve got limitations of my own) – but it’s not likely to be a surprise if I’m just hitting a “stall point” from fatigue building up over time. I find myself thinking “when was my last getaway…?” and realizing it has only been a handful of days, really; I went down the coast to visit my dear friend before she died…
…Suddenly the tears start to fall…
Okay, so I’ve failed to account for the emotional fatigue of also managing grief in the mix of all of everything else, I guess? I kind of feel like I’m mostly sort of “over it”… more or less… mostly… but… that isn’t really how grief or grieving works, is it? The tears are just steady falling at this point, and I just fucking let them. My dear friend – one of my dearest, and for such a very long time – deserves every honest tear I shed in her memory. So human. What else can I possibly offer her now?
…Definitely just straight up crying now…
…This almost feels hormonal…
…Fuck I’m just so g’damned tired “lately”… (how much “lately”? I don’t even know, maybe just today…)
…But what do I need from me…? Well, shit. I actually just don’t know, and can’t seem to kick my brain back into gear, and now I’m dealing with tears, too. So I do what I can – what I have to get done to finish the day. One task at a time, with care and consideration, after taking a healthy break, walking around the block, breathing some fresh air, drinking some clean cold water and a nice cup of tea… “Soon enough it’ll all be over,” I think to myself, then when I’m struck by how grim and final that actually sounds, I break up laughing out loud, tears still falling. I probably look like a hysterical madwoman, right about now, and I don’t even care – it’s just a very human moment. I’m tired. At least I’m fucking laughing, though… That’ll have to be enough, until I begin again.
I had a restless night of interrupted sleep. No bad dreams, just periodically waking up for no obvious reason, before settling into sleep once again. It wasn’t unpleasant, but the night seemed unreasonably long and I got up well ahead of my usual time, dressed, and left for work early. The commute was effortless, because at that hour there was no traffic on the road. Now, I’m sitting at my desk, looking out at the dark pre-dawn cityscape, sipping my coffee. It’s a Tuesday, and my calendar is pretty full, but all that begins quite a bit later, and I have some time to sit with my thoughts.
A cherished handmade gift from a dear friend.
Last night as I was tidying up a quiet room that is mostly decorated with books, I found this small handmade paper journal sort of just set aside, waiting for some moment. It was a gift from my recently deceased dear friend, celebrating my 60th birthday. It was intended to accompany me on a camping trip with my Traveling Partner, and as I recall now, I elected to keep it safe from harm by not taking it out into the wilds where dirt, wind, or rain might wreck it, knowing I’d find some similarly meaningful use for it some other time and place.
It even came with instructions. 😀
I sat for a moment with this cherished gift in my hands, gently unfolding the letter that is still tucked into a pocket inside the cover. I reread the letter, my heart filled with love and fond memories, a soft sad smile on my face. I miss my friend, but how delightful to have this memento of our friendship to remember her by!
Each page decorated by hand, each page unique, bringing to mind the illuminated manuscripts of another age.
I turn the pages, one by one, each one different, each one ready for some thought, or poem, or random handful of words to be written there. I felt so inspired, just to hold it in my hands! I examined each page, reconnecting with so many memories of the friendship we had shared. I delighted in the recollection of her enthusiasm for small handmade gifts, and how extraordinary and special each such gift to me remains to this day. I smiled thinking about her best friend bringing a similar cherished gift to the hospital while I was there visiting, to share that precious memory. What a beautiful human being my dear friend was! She was – is – so well loved by those who knew her. Missed.
“Friendship is a gift that lasts.” – It is indeed.
I turn to a page with a pocket from which a string dangles, and a note attached to the pocket reads “Pull the white string up”, and so I do – and as if speaking to me from “the beyond”, a tag appears that reads “friendship is a gift that lasts”. My eyes fill with tears that don’t fall, and the smile on my face becomes a bit brittle, a little fragile, with this reminder that I was also dear to my dear friend. I feel loved. I feel grateful to have shared this amazing friendship. My smile deepens as I sit with my memories for a moment. I’m okay. Grief is a process, and there is no escaping it; “the way out is through”. Fucking hell, what a first rate friend she truly was.
The last page. A bookmark. A reminder.
I turn page after page of this small handmade journal, and imagine writing in it, at long last. What would I write in such a precious space? What words fit in this slim fragile volume? I imagine for a moment that whatever I wrote here might be something she could read, from wherever her spirit rests. Fanciful, but comforting. The bookmark tucked into the pocket on the last page says only, in large letters, “Roses”. I smile and think about the roses I recently purchased to add to the garden with her – and the memories of our friendship – in mind. I allow myself the fancy of imagining she somehow knew. (Certainly, she knew I love roses.)
What a beautiful little moment! It lingers with me now, and I woke this morning to see the wee journal resting on a cushion, next to my neatly folded clothes, waiting for the new day. Where will this journey take me? What is ahead on this path? I sip my coffee and think happy thoughts of trails to hike, and roses to plant, and long summer days in the garden. I think about the wee journal, and my dear friend, and what words might fill these pages.
My mind wanders to other cherished friendships. I could be a better friend; I make a commitment to reach out to friends I haven’t spoken to recently. I think fondly of my Traveling Partner – our deeply loving relationship is also built on a firm foundation of a cherished friendship. We were friends long before we were ever lovers. I’m grateful for that friendship, it has carried us through some tough times with considerable affection and grace. Whatever else goes on in life, friends are such a huge part of life being worth living in the first place. I sip my coffee and think about how fortunate I am to have the rich friendships I do. The value isn’t in numbers of friends, either, it’s in the quality of enduring friendships, and the love and laughter they bring to this very human experience, that can sometimes feel so lonely otherwise.
I look up as I finish my coffee. The morning sky is hues of blue and shades of gray where clouds crowd the horizon. Daybreak has passed. Sunrise is moments away, although I doubt it will be anything exceptional to see, this morning. Regardless, here it is a new day – and already time to begin again.
By the time I reached the trailhead this morning, there was a steady rain falling. When I left the house it was a barely noticeable fine mist, and I expected it to diminish, or at least pause, giving me a lovely opportunity to walk this favorite trail alone, early on a Saturday morning. I sip the coffee I bought on the way, and listen to the patter of raindrops on the windshield and sunroof of the car. I’m not annoyed or impatient; there’s still a chance the rain may stop before I give up and head home.
Waiting for a break in the rain.
The morning is a pretty mild one. If the rain stops I’ll get into the garden and do something… maybe weed the flower beds, or do a bit of careful pruning. My Traveling Partner invited me to join him in the shop at some point today, too. The weekend is shaping up to be a pleasant one full of good times and things to do. I smile thinking about the rain falling on the garden beds and the lawn. I feel safe and contented, and relaxed and comfortable with myself and my experience. I sit enjoying the moment for a while.
I think about my dear friend, so recently deceased. No tears this morning, just warmth and fond gratitude that I had the chance to enjoy so much of her devoted deep friendship for so many years. I am fortunate indeed. I miss her greatly. So many Saturday mornings my first email would be from her, a reply to, or question about, whatever I had written about that morning. I feel a moment of heartfelt pain every time I remember that she won’t be emailing me anymore. No texts. No calls. No unexpected little somethings in the mail. No comments on pictures of photos I shared with her. Sometimes it’s hard to know quite how to move on from that.
The rain continues to fall. I sit awhile longer, just listening and thinking my thoughts. The time isn’t wasted; I enjoy these quiet solitary moments. Soon enough, it’ll be time to begin again.
I woke during the night rather abruptly. I was “stuck on a thought” that surfaced in a dream, a hint of a recollection that was sufficiently unclear that it “broke the flow” of my dreams. Over my coffee, this morning, I searched my archived emails for a related email thread I was certain existed “in real life” to see if I could clear up the vagueness in my recollection. It wasn’t all that difficult, and I quickly found the email exchange with my recently deceased dear friend that I recalled when I woke during the wee hours. I read it, and one or two that followed it. Now I sit, memories refreshed based on that “there/then” perspective, sipping my coffee and amusing myself with how very like “time travel” this felt. I’d forgotten quite a lot that had seemed significant to me then.
The email exchange, generally, was on themes of love and the work that goes into that, and it’s interesting to me how very much the love between my Traveling Partner and I has continued to deepen and grow over time. I reflect on other partnerships I’ve invested some portion of a life time in, and it has not been the case that those relationships improved, deepened, or grew over time. Rather, it has been my experience of other long-term relationships that they tend to weaken, to grow stale, to become a burden over time, and I would myself wondering (near the end) how it was that joy could so steadily erode between people who were still trying to call it “love” so long after the love seemed to have slipped away.
I am so grateful for this love I share with my Traveling Partner! I see subtle changes over time reflected in my emails with my dear friend. Instead of playfulness becoming aggravation, our playfulness with each other developed further, becoming cherished inside jokes and lasting affection. Instead of romantic passion and lust waning over the years, we continue to yearn for each other’s touch and to reach for each other. The wanting lasts (in spite of occasional circumstances when it is difficult to fulfill those needs). Our understanding of each other has become deeper, more nuanced, more reliably accurate, instead of feeling as if we are “growing apart” experience by experience. I am so fortunate to be in this place in life, with this human being.
…I sit awhile, thinking about love…
I sip my coffee thinking about “where we began”, colleagues, then friends, later lovers, eventually living together… each step further taking us to new places as human beings on life’s journey. Now here we are. I’m glad to continue to share this journey with this human being. No, it’s not always “easy” – but many of things I enjoy most require quite a bit of sustained effort, attention, and continued reinvestment of time and resources. Why would I be surprised that love similarly requires these things? It’s like… one of the best things ever and worth the time and the verbs. 😀 I entertain myself awhile longer, reading tales of this love I share with my Traveling Partner, as told in emails between my dear friend and I. My heart feels lifted. Her wisdom was so helpful at so many steps along the way, too. The wisdom of a good and very dear friend with my best interests in mind is a beautiful and rare thing.
…What a pleasant morning. I reflect on my good fortune, and feel myself wrapped in love as I start my work day. It’s already time to get going on that. Already time to begin again. 😀
Evening Light 