And it’s all a mystery to me: why one person lives, and another dies. Why? Why? Why?
And we are at the beach – our first year without Errol - boating up a tidal creek and there is a cumulus cloud as high as Mount Everest, looming 30,000 feet above us. And the wind is slack, and the water looks like it has been wrapped in cellophane, and the dense green forest stretches down to the water. And we slow to watch the porpoises play in our wake and a gull flies overhead, calling down to us, and I think Errol accepted this mystery and enjoyed it as well as anyone. But that doesn’t make the space in my arms, where he should be, any less empty. And tears flood our little boat as we sail home into the orange sun.
We wipe the tears from our eyes, but it’s no clearer than the day Errol was born, or the day he died. It remains a mystery.
1 comment:
a mystery indeed. i do not even pretend to understand the immense loss you feel, but i do continue to pray for your family. i know there are many others who join me in this act of love for your family.
Post a Comment