To Walk Where She Walked

There is such comfort to walk where she walked, sit where she sat, see what she saw, gaze at the stars, and to know she never leaves. I keep expecting to see that approaching body, with the broad beamed smile, the wide steps taken, or the sauntering stagger, the body and legs of a strong and solid being. She was all that and more. Perhaps that is why it is so comforting to be in the places she occupied, the rooms, the streets, the seawall, the bay, the camp, the view, and oh, what a view. To take steps on the solid ground where she once visited makes her come so alive. So much so that I just know she is going to bound up the steps and announce her arrival. But she doesn't. And she won't. No more, in the same way. Never to be touched or to hear that voice. It's a pain that gnaws and eats away, and hasn't subsided. Maybe someday. I won't know until I know.

So, as I head for home, back to the many reminders, back to the room she occupied, the photographs, the memories, I have found my reason for being here. I am taking baby steps in the journey of grief. This trip to her haven by the sea was another step. Small, but mighty. She is in the energy of a sea breeze, the wind over the camp where she worked, the path leading her home to her aunt and uncle's house, the images of a place where she felt safe, comfortable and loved. It is no wonder that there is still pain for all who loved her, knew her and want her here. As the season changes and summer comes, we must take solace that she is in the stars, in the moon, in the pink skies; her vision will approach us in ways we cannot understand, and I say WE because for many of us, it is the same. Yes, different for me as her mother, but our conversations help me to know that others walk in pain as they still, and forever, mourn. WE try not to stay consumed, what good will that do? Where would that take us? Most likely to places we do not need to stay, for we don't get more than what is promised today.

I think of the scripture we included in her memorial cookbook, and of course, I thank God for this day, this new part of the "grief work", to walk where she has walked and to find comfort. God blesses us with His own words that show us we can do this in the book of Psalms, Verse 119, Chapter 105: Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path. May He lead us where He wants us to be, light our way through the pain, and help us to keep at it, at this thing called life. I will walk where she walked and know that I am exactly where I am supposed to be.