Losing Loved Ones

Losing Loved Ones
            A few days ago, I found out that a dear friend had passed away. Though not totally unexpected, it was still a shock to the system.
            Over many years, starting with me as a customer at her bakery, and continuing over the years as she moved far away and then close again, we chatted and e-mailed about parallel challenges in life: the ups and downs of business and finances, worries about family and the world, and health challenges big and small for ourselves and loved ones.
            When one of my Insights posts was about something I thought might especially strike a chord with her, I shared it. She’d always reply that she read my posts every week and had already read the one I was sending.
            Her health challenge took her away too young. I question why bad things happen to good people. 
            This past Sunday, feeling heavy hearted, I couldn’t think where to take my autistic son for our hike. Then it hit me that a visit to the beach where we had a small memorial for my mom a couple of years ago might capture the spirit of the day.
            We drove across the Golden Gate Bridge into Marin. Distracted with grief, I took a wrong turn. The place we ended up was coincidentally the first site I’d thought to visit as a solace for the loss of my friend. We walked out to a bluff with a coastal view of my mom’s memorial spot in one direction and Point Bonita Lighthouse in the other.
            I thought of my friend, and of my mom, who passed away within a few months of my beloved dad. On our quiet drive home, our classical music station played Beethoven’s Sonata Pathetique, one of the piano pieces my dad used to play after my brothers and I went to bed when we were kids. Listening to all three movements, I realized that I still remember every note from repeatedly hearing the notes waft upstairs from the living room to my bedroom.
            Hearing those notes made me feel like I was with my dad. Being near my mom’s memorial site reminded me of her. Some things will make me feel my friend is still here in spirit: pumpkin scones, exquisite holiday cookies, the knitted hand warmers she made that I wear on cold days at my desk.
            Wendy, your spirit weathered rough waves like those crashing at the lighthouse in this photo. I will remember you when I look at the sunset, glowing behind the Farallon Islands, or shimmering on our shared San Francisco cityscape. Thank you, friend, for the goodness you shared.
            I looked back at Point Bonita Lighthouse as the archive hike for photos shared here, and saw that the accompanying Insights post was about how the essence of our loved ones remains. I share that post again below in honor of Wendy, whose essence I know is still here.
 
Originally posted in May of 2018:
 
The Essence Remains
            What happens when our loved ones are gone? By “gone,” I mean in the mortal sense. Of no longer being here physically.
            One of my favorite classes in college was about religion and death. What an array of beliefs there are. About guiding the dying on their way out. About those left behind dealing with their grief. About how to handle the physical remains of those who have passed.
            I have no solid answers for anyone. My heart is strengthened, however, by learning how others process the absence of those they shared life with.
            One thing I do know for myself: The essence of a person remains.
            It can be thick in the air when a person is first gone. It can waft back in waves over years, when one least expects it.
            When a person’s essence sweeps up to touch us again, it may not happen on the anniversary date of their loss. Or a birthday, or a holiday.
            The tangible sense of a loved one may appear in quiet, unanticipated moments. Triggered by a smell or sound. Reverberating in a familiar object or patch of scenery that flashes at just the right moment and angle.
            How thankful I am for those unexpected visceral memories, filling me with the sense of a missing companion.
            The life to death transition is sometimes expressed as a bridge, a crossing from one realm to another.
 
            This week’s Hike Notes from the archives, Point Bonita Lighthouse, has its own narrow, shaky bridge leading to a wonderful historic lighthouse. This is a stunning area to visit, whether you’re there in the narrow time frame allowing access to the lighthouse, or show up any old time to walk around the surrounding area.
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This week’s hike from the archives:
Hike Notes 13: Point Bonita Lighthouse