Went to the river this weekend. Camped in the woods, beneath the big pecans. The trees are heavy and thick with age. Some of them have even decided to lay their burden down and now recline upon the ground, their branches resting on the soil from which they sprang. We’re old too, though, so we understand the desire to rest and maybe call it a day.

I was there with my daughter and her family, and we were there with our friends and their families. It rained a bit, but that was okay. It’s the river and getting wet is sort of the point. It was the first time back since the passing of my wife, one who enjoyed the river and was often the instigator who said, “let’s go camping.” She was missed and remembered. I brought the guitar I was playing the day we met. I told stories about that day and sang a few songs. There were tears and laughter.

We made new memories. Kids swam in the river and snorkeled and fished. There will be more days like this, I’m sure. Camping days. Fishing days. Swimming days. Healing days. Down by the river days. All steps down the road. And maybe one day these children, too, will grow old and heavy with age, and come to sit beside the river and miss what was and be thankful for what might still come because they have children of their own to watch as they play in the river.