Whenever I am feeling sad or confused about something, I get in the car and drive. Given the price of gas these days, I do have to be mindful of a worthwhile destination.
More often than not, I sit on the back deck of our house and listen to the Great Ontario. I close my eyes and let my mind wander to wherever my subconscious will take me, the sounds of the waves in the background and the honking of the geese over head. I often wonder if they realize the way back home, or if they just get lucky.
The last six weeks I have had to say goodbye to eight people I loved, both family and friends, but mostly friends. The fact they were so young is what is most daunting; the shock of losing them without the benefit of saying goodbye is heart wrenching for all who knew them.
I raised my family in the 19th Ward. I made a lot of friends during those years, many who have become my mentors and touchstone, the faces I celebrate with when things are great, and lament to when things are not going so well. They are who I look to when I am feeling afraid and alone or confused and need guidance or a swift kick in the pants. Our children grew up together and remain friends today, a fact of which I am quite proud and look at it as a sense of accomplishment. Family is forever, whether good or bad; you need friends in this life to rely on no matter what as well. Why? Because friends remind you who you really are, and that they like you anyway.
Fate had it that I would journey to Pultneyville, a place as foreign to me as if moving to another country. There is such history here among the inhabitants, everyone knows everyone else, and I wondered if I would ever fit in.
Many years ago I found a sampler while flipping through the dozens of catalogues I got in the mail every month. “To Have a Friend, You Must Be A Friend” it read, and I never forgot it. I realized that having a friend does not come easily for some people, and that being a friend is sometimes very hard work.
Being a friend means standing shoulder to shoulder with someone whose burdens have become heavy. Without saying a word you can shift some of the weight for just a little while, until they are better able to withstand the storm. Being a friend means you are willing to withstand the buffeting pellets of dissension or confusion; they do, however, sometimes feel like boulders. A friend will lift the spirits of those who need lifting without murmuring a sentence; they will know what’s in your heart simply because you are there.
So although I travel back to the city from time to time to reconnect with those who have helped formed me, I realize that I see the faces of new friends all around me. It is in the eyes of those with whom I pray and sing. It is in the faces of the firefighters who pass me on the road and the loved ones who stand behind them as they wait their return. It is in the smile of the one who packs my groceries and who hands me the flowers I will plant in my garden. From the shopkeeper to the restaurateur to the ladies who gather at house parties or backyard barbeques, I know that wait only for the call when I need to be the one for them.
My heart aches for the ones I have lost and did not get to bid farewell. I know that I will see them again someday, and try not to be too sad until that great homecoming.
Like the geese, I got lucky and realized the way home here on earth and where it is. It is here on the Lake and it is in the city. Home is where ever my friends are.
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