“The two most powerful warriors are patience and time.”
— LEO TOLSTOY
I sat by the calm lake this morning knowing it was the 8th, cognizant that it has been 50 months, somewhat baffled as to how that could be. I let some of the day pass. The lake still calm, I got in the kayak and paddled. For a long time. I finally turned around. As I headed home I came upon a loon who seemed unperturbed by my presence. He rested calmly on the water and then, in a silent second he was gone, only to reemerge somewhere quite different. I watched as he repeated this many times, in no hurry, always reappearing somewhere else. It occurred to me that this is like my grief. It swallows me up until I can reemerge, always someplace a little different, unpredictable in frequency, never ending up in the same place twice. Today as I fight to hold on to each day, I stop to mark time, as I do each month, and am grateful to the loon.
