I passed this sunrise, on the seventh anniversary of my old friend's Farewell Day, with Bruce's Willow tree.
I once made space for his memory with the idea of Tomorrow, in the dim light of hope that my life, somehow, would have a sequel. Maybe, maybe, maybe one day I might stand in the shadow of a tree I planted, and I wanted my friend to be with me there. I planted life with a hound-dog shaped hole in my heart because a roadside eulogy was less than he deserved. The roots of this willow have stretched out for seven years, and I know for a fact, how rocky and unkind this soil can be. Growth is earned in this spot. The tree has grown, though, and grown well. As have I. Gentle rain touched my already wet cheeks. I felt a phantom black and white paw against my palm, almost real enough to shake. The sky is pink and gray and weeping, and the light is dim. But, it's enough to cast a little shadow and I stand just there. I have not forgotten when tomorrow did not exist for me. Tomorrow is here this morning, and I'm grateful. Bruce is here, as well, and I'm grateful for that, too. Best friends. Yes, sir. Always and always.
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My good friend has spent much time in her hometown, a disaster zone formerly known only as Altha, Florida. Last night, I typed a message to her, her friends, and family.
"It takes an average of two years to begin to feel like a person, again." Not who you were, or who you will be, but just an ordinary human living a garden variety life. It took me closer to three years to begin that process. I did not want to tell them. Those strangers, some of whom I will never meet, who showed up and loved my entire town during the Tornado Aftermath of 2011. Those dear people, who I have considered friends ever since, became members of my Disaster Tribe in 2018. Those people live in the rubble of their homes, with survival depending on strangers who may or may not show up. I did not want to tell them, but no one told me that particular truth. No one knew to tell me, but I needed to know. "Two years is a very, very long time to spend picking up pieces of your life, of your heart, and maybe, of your mind. But, it does not equal forever. There is hope. Help will come." I am going to tell you another truth now, because maybe, you just don't know. Disaster relief is not disaster resolution. Nothing can undo the Damn Bad Thing. Here is the thing you might not know, though. In catastrophic circumstances, relief is comparable in intensity, to joy. It does not matter how little you think you have to give. It will be enough. Enough is comparable, long term, to a lifetime. When that bit of money is spent or those supplies are used on survival, the heart behind those gifts will carry a person much longer. Hope and Love are tangible. I know because I have held them in my own hands. They walked home with me. When someone takes a little bit of the heavy darkness that you are carrying, and hands you hope to fill the space and love to light it up, that stuff lasts. To be loved when you have nothing but loss and heartbreak on your own. That stuff lasts. That "little" bit of relief, now, will be a companion on this long road through destruction. I know because I have walked that road hand in hand, in turn, with Grief, with Despair, and yeah, with Insanity, too. I promise you that no one can make this particular journey unless Love reaches out and takes their other hand. In showing up, in sending help, in money and supplies and food, and most of all in love, the people of Altha helped walk me home. One step at a time, one step closer to home. In my experience, a person can make the entire journey that way. Will you walk a step with the people of Altha? Please offer, share, let me know if you are willing, and I will help you find a way to be able. Love, Me Photos: One is my house. The other is the home of my friend's sister, in Altha. I'm not going to tell you which is which because there is no difference. |
AuthorI am made entirely of flaws, stitched together with laughter, good intentions, and the grace of God. Archives
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