There’s a memorial pool near my wife’s gravesite.
A meandering stream of water finds its way over moss covered rocks and drops into the pool causing tremulous reflections on the surface.
As a modernist painter might sweep with purposefully erratic and bold strokes of his brush, the vibrancy of daffodils and trees become abstract splashes of color.
Just down the road aways, situated right over the water of the bay, was a table set for two.
But of course, there was only me.
On a bench above the bay I watched as the sun, the great herald of the day, settled lower and lower in the pinkening and darkening sky.
And though the day was done, I had taken time to be.
To be present.
To be in the moment.
To be where the colors of sadness and beauty intermixed.
To be silent and alone, and yet in that moment witness heaven’s artistry.
To be like the indistinct reflections in the pool, love, loss, and life blurred as I smiled even while brushing away tears.
Mr Anderson, I have been reading your letters off and on for some time. You were and still are very much in love with your wife, but maybe a year is a good time to start to really accept that she is gone. If you have not had grief counseling you should consider doing so. It could help you to start a new journey in this life you are still living. I hope you find real peace.