Ten Years

In which my annual pilgrimage to Great Falls is a metaphor and a balm.

Today marks ten years since my mom died. I don’t have much more to say than what I wrote here, except that on my annual pilgrimage to Great Falls this morning, where we hiked together, and where I feel her spirit most acutely, it occurred to me that the name Great Falls is a perfect metaphor. For what is grief, really, if not a terrifying free fall from an unimaginable height to an unimaginable depth? 

So that is what I was thinking as I took in the beauty of the place, and felt her both all around me, and impossibly far away:

More than once during my annual hike I have come across a Great Blue Heron, standing perfectly motionless along the water’s edge. Moments of divine beauty like this one sit at the very core of the spirituality I inherited from my mom, and from her mom as well…

(I am also thinking today of my dear friend Tamie, who lost her mom exactly five years to the day before my mom died. I love you, T.S., my sister-in-sorrow.)