Looking back and living now.

     A while back I realized that I had difficult anniversary dates for various losses within every season. I became aware that the memories would return on a regular basis, whether I wanted them to or not. I thought I would be overwhelmed by such year-round grief. But now I understand that grief is intertwined with joy, and in each of these same anniversary seasons there are beautiful things as well. This is life under the sun—pain and beauty intermingled.

     This week marks the anniversary of a close friend’s murder in 1983. Jim was a free spirit, a live wire, and I hope I never forget his wry smile. His deep blue eyes and dark curly hair cast a gentle warm-heartedness, even when his more mischievous side surfaced. He was a cajun who introduced me to sailing on Vermillion Bay and dove the offshore rigs. He once tried teaching me how to hop a freight train. At the last minute I backed out, so he had to jump off a few blocks later to let me catch up with him on the ground.

     It would be easy to reduce his tragic death at 25 to his having gotten mixed up with the wrong crowd. But it was not so simple as that. His killer has never been caught, though a handful of us believe we know what happened. I was tangled up in the aftermath of these events in a way that sank me deep into despair and addiction. A year or so later, I met a stranger in a bar who I now believe was sent from God to tell me it was not my fault, that I could let go of the guilt I hadn’t realized I was carrying. That conversation began my recovery.

     But today, despite the anniversary that reminds me of this tragedy, I am enjoying a deep contentedness. I am grateful for so many things. In particular, I am relieved and thankful for the help I had this week. Teenagers Jordan and Maddi assisted with deck staining. Eleven-year old Coal mowed the grass, with encouragement from his on-site Dad. And Molly spent a whole day of her Eugene visit helping me rebuild the wrap-around deck step. After working for weeks to clear the brush, my summer yard is emerging, and after pounding many nails, I have a repaired deck from which to enjoy it. I take pleasure in projects that can be completed, because my life offers few places where finishing something is accomplished.

     The sprouting garden reminds me of growth and nourishment and the morning sunshine gives a warm place to sip my coffee. I am grateful for friendships that give me company and sustenance along the way. I love having a home where I can welcome visitors, and am looking forward to the arrival of my first summer guests. I am glad when I hear reports that my home has been a refuge to so many over the years.

     So I recall the anniversary of a tragic time, when my life appeared only hopeless and despairing, when I could not have dreamed of a day in the sunshine like today. And I am beyond grateful to find myself having landed in a comfortable, beautiful, and safe place, with a back deck from where I can watch the seasons of my life unfold, pain and beauty mingled together.