Sunday Sunday

I finally got out on the trail with Summer. I hate hiking the trails looking at my feet, so eventually I began to look up. I finally let her off leash when my nerves lost the battle to the majestic redwoods. This is my back yard and I am determined to appreciate it, so I offered up my moment mantra... Be Here Now. Then I slowed down. I recalled a walking meditation I did in a writing class. I determined it was time in the woods, not distance. I made it to the T, then down the hills and up to her little water seepage in the hillside, then further on to the cathedral bend.

Oh it is not so easy no matter my mantra. 'What ifs' rear their ugly heads. Anger replaces grief at the most inopportune times, no matter my intellectual capacity to understand not to go there. Grief is more welcome, but anger easier to share, to get a response, it is less scary and more familiar. Grief is not to be shared. As Sara told me when she tried to help me through an early experience, it's a separation. I knew I was surrounded by my daughters. I was more connected to Rich. United, I breathed his last breaths. It is a gift to grieve.

Rich is not in the redwoods. Rich is in the sea. But I am in the redwoods and the sea. I can bring Rich with me there now, with Summer. I step lightly. The sunlight filtering, the air still carrying some early morning moisture. One step, than another, one breath than another. I feel better now.

When we got back to the trailhead and were pulling out of the lot, an older woman flagged me down to hand me an invite to the "Blessing of the Animals". So sweet. I'm Franciscan by schooling, so I know that it's about St Francis Feast day. I know the church because I walked along side the minister one day in May. I told Rhea that I met Laurie on the trail and we spoke of Richard's cancer. Her partner has stage 4. I parked and we hugged.