Krull
The quiet and the dark soothe even a troubled spirit.
I’m outside on a cold night. We have a fire going inside the house, and I’ve stepped out to the back yard to collect more wood.
But the chill air seems so fresh and crisp that I linger for a few moments, enjoying the smell of the woodsmoke and allowing some peace to settle over me.
Our children are back for the holidays. That’s always a good thing.
Even though I’m proud of the way they’ve made their way in the world, I miss having them around. Watching them play with our dog or just go through their old routines in the house in which they grew up makes me smile.
That’s a blessing. Smiles have been more difficult to come by lately.
I listen to a dog bay in the distance and wonder whether our dog or any of the other dogs in the neighborhood will answer. There is no answer as the distant dog continues its keening bark, a lone and maybe lonely voice in the night.
The year that is about to end has been a hard one.
I’ve lost dear friends—seen them pass before their time. I still mourn the days they were denied.
I also now watch family members and other friends battle life-threatening and life-ending diseases. In no other time in my life have I spent so many hours with doctors and in hospitals and hospices, listening and watching as people who own pieces of my heart face up to harsh and often final realities.
I know I’m not alone in this. We live now in a time of pandemic when a scourge has brought tragedy to more than 800,000 people and those who love them. This is on top of all the other illnesses and afflictions that can ail humanity, none of which has taken a vacation during these seasons of sorrows.
Loss is everywhere, but it still hits hard when it comes close to home.
Close to the heart.
I tell myself that this is just the stage of life I am in.
Any man who has taken more than 60 spins around the sun must accustom himself to loss. Must accept that farewells and funerals will become a larger and larger part of his life.
That’s the truth, but truth doesn’t always serve as a balm for the soul.
At least not for grief, but grief teaches its own lessons.
Grief reminds us that all those we hold dear are individual, irreplaceable, and that their losses are unique. When they go, they leave holes that can be filled only with the love and memories they left behind.
I look back at my house. I try to see the tendrils of smoke curling out of the chimney. I can’t. It’s too dark.
I’m trying this holiday season to think of this time of trial as a kind of gift itself. I remind myself, again and again and again, that I grieve because those who have died and those who face hard battles were and are dear to me. Their lives and the times we spent together were treasures.
And they will remain treasures.
I tell myself that this is a season to count blessings.
To savor the things that make life rich and full.
The smell of woodsmoke on a cold, crisp night.
The sound of my grown and happy children playing with our dog.
The memory of loved ones sharing both laughs and tears.
The dog in the distance has stopped barking in the dark. Silence has fallen over the night again.
My family will begin to wonder if something’s happened to me if I linger much longer.
I gather the logs and then head back inside to warm myself by the fire.
And the thoughts of those who have made my life ever so much richer.
