Friday, January 16, 2009


yesterday afternoon I rode my bike to escape.
I sat through the funeral, crying more than I wanted to, crying every time I looked at one of the family members. every time I looked at ellie's mom my heart dropped to the floor and I felt such deep anguish I could barely stay inside my skin.
so perhaps I rode to feel some kind of release, to try to explode from beneath my skin. perhaps I rode to reclaim some of life's joy; maybe it was to connect again with God in some kind of unity.
I have no anger, no frustration with the unfairness of it all. I am at peace with it, knowing that this great big tapestry we're being woven into can only be made if sorrow and loss strike us down at times.
but that doesn't preclude my ache for the family. if only I could take away their pain, their sorrow, their huge and terrible loss. I know their next years will be difficult in a thousand little ways we'll never be privileged to know.
sitting in the church I knew I needed to ride afterward.
so I did.
I rode hard. I rode to the top of little mountain and then stopped. I paused, my heartrate settling, and I gazed down over the vista I love. little dell appeared somehow less and more frozen than yesterday, patches of liquidity in places different from what I saw the day before. I studied the reservoir, trying desperately to imprint this view onto a slate of memory. I want to return to this place, in my mind, when I need peace and understanding. when I'm sitting in churches during funerals, feeling as though I may implode, I need that visual and its effect on my soul.
gray and platinum still swirled with the icy white solid spaces, and the ice seemed to stretch further out into the middle than the day before. my eyes traced a path around the reservoir, as far as I could see, and I envisioned myself making the trek on snowshoes. two silent trucks sat in the parking lot, and not a sound or movement broke my reverie.
my ride seemed selfish: I wanted to be able to gift my experience to ellie's mom and dad, to give them even the tiniest sense of the peace I was able to attain.
I have sent it their way, as have hundreds and hundreds of others, and my prayers tonight will include my desire that they feel even a small percentage of all the love that's being directed to their beautiful family. if you are one who prays, a small prayer for holly and pat and their family would surely be a gift from you to them.
I'm pretty sure ellie's watching us all, giggling and licking a 'potsicle,' preparing for a somersault. I hope I can imprint that image of her in my memory bank, and keep it alongside the image of my most favorite, peaceful, holy spot on earth.

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