The comforts of Nature work every time

I’m sitting at a cafe table for two on the lower deck of our home. Chip and I used it many times for morning coffee or lunch on weekends without Stella and Sam. The empty seat saddened me, until I made the conscious choice to look beyond it and to take in the world.

The wind is gently nudging the leaves before me and whipping at those at the top of the forest canopy, resulting in a steady sound akin to water running from a kitchen sink. Every so often, it moves all the leaves so much that it sounds like a roaring creek during a downpour of rain (quite like the creek in Ohio yesterday on my 5-mile hike with my friend Kathy in the pouring rain while wearing a 25-pound backpack, in preparation for climbing the Grand Teton mountain in August). When the wind decides to be strong, it kisses the wind chime my friend Stephanie sent me after Chip died and a perfectly pitched “dong” rings out. The Rockstar and Frankie bounce back and forth from sitting next to me listening like I am and barking at or chasing something they’ll never catch.

The sun is shining so very brightly this fine morning. It casts moving shadows as the wind shifts the leaves. It reminds me that Chip is with me and the wind chime concurs every so often. As the sun glows and the chime dongs, I sob with the rush of thoughts about him.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this (Chip would tell me that he and his friend Scott would discuss challenging life circumstances and say to each other “It wasn’t supposed to be like this”). He was too young to have a deadly disease. He was too fit and too healthy. He had a long life ahead of him. He was an adventurer with plans for him and me. He wanted to see grandchildren and other great things accomplished by the children we shared.

As the sun reaches the treetops, Nature coaxes me to march onward to seize the day. It reminds me that Chip’s light will dance on my skin as often as I decide to think about him in this way while getting the stuff of living done. Paperwork, the dishes, weeding, cooking for Sam and Stella…none of it is going to do itself…but having his light shine on me (and embracing other sensory experiences) throughout the day will make the tasks more doable.

Everlasting be his memory.