Rebirth
What I saw yesterday. A group of school children coming into the park to play. A park ranger walking to meet her colleagues. Townspeople coming to get their mail. A supermarket checker who waved. A young couple holding hands. A trio of women standing together with the youngest holding tightly to the oldest, the young head on the elder’s shoulder. The sun on the hills as it went down in the evening.
What I felt yesterday. The joy of hearing children’s laughter. The wind on my face as I sat in the park. The ordinariness of life. The happiness of being recognized. The possibility of tomorrow. The comfort of sorrow. And not least of all the pleasure of knowing I am surrounded by beauty and all I need to is look and I will find it in the tiniest of places.
All these simple things lead me to believe I may well be emerging from the chrysalis of grief to become something new. It feels like it. My edges are becoming more defined. I think the trip to Red River was the beginning of that rebirth. At first, I was buried in couples and my loss was self-evident, at least to me. Then gradually, with the music and the friendship, I realized I was happy, it was self-contained, and there was more to be had. And yesterday was like that, a day of pleasure with the simple joys of my life. There is still the loss, but that’s a constant. Right now, there’s life, and I’m in it, for better or for worse.
John W. Wilson is the author of The Long Goodbye: A Caregiver’s Tale