From a Grateful Human (50)

Our sun is moving northward, quick passage, blinkings of the eye. For almost three months now I have sat here looking at the mountains, unobstructed views since our Palo Verde came down in the fierce wind last fall not long after Sofia died. I used to live outside in the courtyard, but when Boo came home from the hospital, I moved inside, set the two of us up together on the couch bed, me with my down blankets and two small soft beds for him beside me warmed with heating pads. After he died I just stayed put, ensconced in my perch, and I’ve watched the sun inching north. So, because Boo died, I established myself here in this cozy spot. Because we lost our tree, I have these mountains for companions. Silver linings, here, gifts hidden inside grief. I don’t know how many times I’ve cried in this room since I ended up without my little family and have not yet been able to bring myself back into our shared courtyard without them. But I know at times those tears have come because I feel so grateful for this solace. I can’t imagine any better place for me or more exquisite comfort than this room with the mountains before me, pink clouds near dusk, the winter sun’s clean slanting, healing light, the finches noisy and happy just outside the window. So, thank you. Thank you thank you thank you thank you.

2 thoughts on “From a Grateful Human (50)

  1. I loved this post and how it’s anchored in “gifts hidden inside grief.” Since the death of my best friend Jim last June, I have become aware (again) of the complex nature of sorrow. It takes from us — and gives to us — sometimes at the same moment. Thanks, Riba.

  2. Oh, you are so welcome, Bart. I am always delighted to hear you like a piece of my writing.

    Your best friend—I am so sorry. That is huge, and still so new. My heart goes out to you.

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