Yesterday I needed solace so I trekked down to Littleton and hiked out to a little private beach at an area of the South Platte that pools into a lake. Except for the occasional cyclist, I was the only one I could see... lake, foothills, blue sky. It was perfect. And I just sat.
My grandmother died about 2 1/2 months ago. Since then I have spent 3 weeks in Texas, 1 week in London, interviewed 3 times for a job I didn't get, finished up my last full semester of seminary, moved houses, took a 2-week intensive course, and auditioned for and was offered a new job. Oh and did I mention that during all of this my grandfather died on the operating room table to be brought back to life in a state of delirium?
I have not had time to grieve the loss of Omie, the turmoil of my Opie, and the constant wearing down of my family. Last night I had my third dream of breaking down and crying. I think it's finally here. In full force. I'm sad. Really sad.
As I sat in the lake yesterday, a violent splashing sound caught my attention. As I investigated the disturbance, I discovered a flailing fish at the water's surface, unable to free itself from whatever was vying for its submission. Never did I see a fisherman or any other cause for such behavior. What I did see was my own journey played out in the struggle of this fish. There were times it fought for its life and then would disappear. The waters would return to calm and all seemed fine. Without notice, it would appear once again in full force fighting against his invisible opponent.
Sometimes I wish the waters would just stay still.