“Ring the bells that still can ring, forget your perfect offering, there is a crack in everything, that’s how the light gets in.”
Leonard Cohen was right. Well, of course he was. In every life there are challenges that absolutely delight us, and other challenges that absolutely break us. The things that break us are not the challenges of small things. These are the big things of life. From lost jobs to lost friends, broken legs to broken hearts, being born into chaos, and dying all alone, we are both blessed and vulnerable to all that life can take. Every season of our lives is both a beginning and an ending.
We are in the waiting room of the world. We are waiting to go forward to a new normal because going back to the old normal is not an option anymore. Not even close.
We are waiting parent by parent, child by child, teacher by teacher, for a reliable plan for the ongoing, steady presence of schools. And in the absence of a reliable plan, a path to incrementally getting to some reasonable facsimile, day by day.
My grandmother, Mable Hopper, was a mostly stern, serious woman, at least to my 5-year-old self. Small in physical stature, Mable had a big wit, a beautiful singing voice, and a depth of intelligence that did not suffer fools or foolishness gladly. I, being five, was full of foolishness.
There are some sounds you never forget. The sweetness of your toddler’s voice, the off-key perfection of your best friend’s singing, the dependable snore of your snoozing dog.
There are some sounds that are so close to the heart and soul of your life that you never forget them. Sweet, reassuring sounds, like the joy and consolation of your big brother’s laughter.
When the virus hit the United States, Washington State was brought to its knees. Washington is my home state and I live in the Eastern part of it, the part that by comparison, has been dealt a significantly less lethal blow than our west side neighbors. And still, in some fundamental, essential way, each of our lives across the entire planet have been dealt a lethal blow. Within that devastation may come our salvation.
As I settled into the idea of simply listening instead of demanding to hear what I expected, a space opened up for a new sound to come. It was low at first, and quiet, but as my ear tuned to a new frequency, I heard it clearly. It was the sound of the whoosh of life, as strong and sure as the spring current flowing across the paddle of a kayak, constant as the river that holds the kayaker and his dream.
When I saw the trees of Willow Springs I knew I was almost home. Soon, I would wake the sleeping dogs from the back seat of the Jeep and together, we would explore all the territory that lay ahead of us. For my young dog Gus, it would be a homecoming, for Cody, my mother’s dog that I had recently inherited after Mom’s move to an assisted living apartment, it would be a new life. For me, it would be a way to love my mother in absentia again. It had been that way between us for years: love from a safe distance.
Some experiences in life will absolutely break your heart. Count on it. It comes with all the beautiful, staggering territory of being mortal. These are not the everyday losses or even things that feel like they break your heart in the moment. For example, when your ten year old insists that they must drink cola out of your great grandmother’s crystal cocktail glass and promptly drops it on the floor right after she says she won’t drop it. Now you have a set of five to pass on to her and a good story, but at the time your heart really hurt. I’m talking about the losses that cause us to question everything we believe in.
