The older I get, the more I could turn this blog into an obituary column. Yesterday, I drove a four-hour round trip for the funeral of my sister, who passed away unexpectedly a couple of weeks ago.
She was 12 and 1/2 years older and often took care of me. When I was sad, she would put her arms around me and sing the song “Big Girls Don’t Cry.” Or at least parts of it. Too bad she’s not here to sing it now, because I’m very sad.
But going outside and moving always helps. So I got on my bicycle this morning and took one of my favorite trail rides to a small, local lake.
It was a bit windy for bicycling. But instead of seeing it as an adversary, I celebrated the wind as a connecting force. The same wind rippling the water, bending the grass blades, making tree leaves dance, a co-navigator for the birds, blowing across everyone outdoors and rattling the windows of all the folks indoors. Nothing like wind to remind us how each piece is a part of the whole.
These ruminations remind me of a poem about loss that rings true for me.
To One Dead
by Max Bodenheim
I walked upon a hill
And the wind, made solemnly drunk with your presence,
Reeled against me.
I stooped to question a flower,
And you floated between my fingers and the petals,
Tying them together.
I severed a leaf from its tree
And a water-drop in the green flagon
Cupped a hunted bit of your smile.
All things about me were steeped in your remembrance
And shivering as they tried to tell me of it.
**
Nomadic Noesis 