Two days from now will be 10 months since I lost my wife of 50 years to cancer.
Lately I have been encouraged to think not how much I miss what I had with her, but to be happy, joyful even, that I had her at all and for so long and, even more importantly, what that means going forward.
As though through this forest glade I wander, and though I walk this unfamiliar path not anymore with my hiking companion, there are yet discoveries to be made, dreams to be had, and delights that await underfoot.
Like the woodland forget-me-not.
If you are very quiet, treading softly, watching carefully – not blinded by tears, nor slashing angrily with your walking stick – you may very well come around that bend in the trail and there find fields – fields! – of the most tiny, delicate, pink-buds-becoming-blue-blossoms known as forget-me-nots.
And the reason to go gently?
Bunnies and butterflies play there. Ok, maybe not bunnies wrapped in tartan plaid against this winter cold, but it is in fact true that there among the forest forget-me-nots, bunnies and butterflies are apt to be found.
Such idyllic fairytale-like settings are the reward for those who wander with anticipation of what they’ll find perhaps just ahead.
It is no wonder for the wanderer whose heart is broken that forget-me-nots are used to treat wounds.
It is no wonder for the widower that forget-me-nots are reminders symbolizing true love, fidelity, and devotion.
It is no wonder for the woeful, the weary, and the woebegone that a walk in the woods – going softly, gently – works.
