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And leaving is always better than being left.
But I did wonder what it must be like to walk through a door, heart open, with a willingness to fix the kinks.
And I wonder why the ones who need love the most are so difficult to give it to.
Because once someone saves you, there’s no turning back, even when you don’t want to be saved.
Perhaps I’d missed the gradual decline from hero to aging adult, and this just saddens me all over again.
As our father had taught us, the earth was a garden with countless treasures. It was where life began and ended.
“Please, Dad.” And the look of disappointment that passes across his face rattles me, so I agree to think about it, because there are things you say and promise to those you love, even when you know you can’t see them through.
One day at a time means no end in sight, only another tomorrow. There are no catchy phrases to make suffering go away.
Sometimes the things people don’t say hurt worse than the things they do. It’s just the way of grief and loss. People think they’re doing you a favor by avoiding the tougher subjects, but the silence only makes the absence bigger, deafening.
That’s what happens to people when they visit the mountains, ground themselves in the earth. Simplicity spreads through the limbs, like stems bending in the wind, flowers scattering their petals.
“Being strong . . . it doesn’t always mean being tough. It means letting those terrible feelings in, not pushing them away. It’s letting yourself feel all of it.”
“See how quickly things change, Avery? You need to grab sunshine when you can. The real tragedy is living the rest of your life in the dark.”
“Mistakes don’t make you a bad person, Avery. They make you complex and human. Own them. Or the only person you hurt is you.”
The water has always been able to heal, and it’s washing away a lot of the messiness of the last few days. Here, we’re forced to be still. Patient.
And I begin to understand more and more what it means to be a parent. It’s hoping for the best while advising and consoling, knowing there are never guarantees. It’s saying the same thing over and over again until it sticks. Never getting tired. Never giving up. And it’s never walking away.
The only way to combat the uneasiness is to keep busy.
My father’s lessons float through my mind. A garden is a metaphor for life, Avery. Have a vision for it. What do you want in it? Who? How will you make it happen?
I’m astounded by the tree’s quiet strength and the willingness of those able to share their vulnerability.
“Our role as parents shifts with each phase of our children’s lives. I knew I would have to love Milo differently because of his loss, and he would love me differently for the same. My father’s words found me that day. Our dreams are the dreams we wish for our children. I had no choice but to keep dreaming. Keep believing. It kept me going. It kept all of us going.”
Missing someone you’ve loved and lost doesn’t come with a roadmap. There’s no knowing when the ache will creep in, knocking you flat.
If there’s anything I’ve learned this summer, holding on to those you’ve lost means you’re living in the past. And if you’re living in the past, you’re not really living.
