A Long Walk Off A Short Pier

A long walk off a short pier doesn't seem very appealing. It has always felt like a brush off from someone you wish would like you. Being cursed to the deep is a pretty lonely stretch of plank. It signifies the final thrust into the unknown. It combines being up the creek without a paddle and being sold down the river into a translucent jelly-like state of non-existence. So why is this scene so peaceful?

It is a near exact replica of a place I used to go in the not too distant past. I would go there to find solace amidst pain or to 'ground myself,' as I always said. The mornings were always misty with the veil of a wispy fog until the sun rose high enough to burn it off. Then you could see clear across the lake. I always thought it strange what hides behind the fog.

I'd sit for hours sometimes waiting for that first peek of a ray. The sky would lighten from darker to lighter and with the coming sun I felt my hopes rise. Whatever the problem, it was always easier to deal with in the light of day. The sharp edges of the night cut like a knife and the shadows are the hiding places of bogeymen and goblins. But that one ray - that gave me a renewed vigor.

And so today... far removed from this peaceful sight, I sit cyberly staring out over the water trying to pierce the fog with my myopia. There's not a ripple on the water and the birds have not yet taken their heads out from under their wings. The dragonflies are revving up their wings for flight while I hear the faint sound of traffic in the background as the town beings to come to life.

My big toe touches the water and the ripple begins...........................

As it radiates out in concentric circles, I realize why I have come. Each circle is like the next. Each one entrapped inside another. All from one tiny push in the center, layer upon layer they spiral outward. Suddenly I don't feel so all alone. Suddenly I know what the circles mean.

I am reminded of a day long ago in 1989 when I had heard that my father had passed on. We had changed our differences into a special bond. The song you're listening to is one I heard just after he died. "The Living Years," that was a new concept to me at the time. All I know is I was glad once I heard it that we had mended our fences.

We are all connected, however briefly, however remotely, with each other. There are those who believe we are no more than six degrees of separation from any other being on this earth. I come here today because I hurt... again.

My brother died the day after Christmas. I cried as I read it in the paper. I cried more because no one thought I deserved to know. I cried more for me than I did for him. Isn't that the way of grief?

But I wouldn't have called it grief until two days ago. We had had our differences. What siblings don't? But our rift was like that fog, nothing really tangible, but placing each one of us in a line of vision that neither of us was able to see clearly. Sad, I know. And now with him gone, any hope of reconciliation is gone with him. I think that hurts more than anything.

But all too soon the fog will burn off and I will be left in the stark reality of the blazing sun. It isn't even here yet and I can feel the guilt and regret that comes with its scorching touch. Oh, how I despise the 'if onlys.' Perhaps he is wiser now wherever he is. I hope so.

In the meantime, I will just sit here a little while longer and drink in the start of a new day with all its hopes and dreams. I'll tap the water with my toe a few times to remind me of the inter-connectedness in this world. And I will set out to live this day so that, in any tomorrow I am fortunate to live, it will not become one of regret. And then perhaps when I revisit this place, it will once again be a place of solace and comfort.

Tap, tap, tap... Even though.....