Window of Time

There’s a window in my old house where I spend hours looking out.  At times I stare out into the sunrise , blazing with color.  Other times I stare into the dark at the end of a long day when I am tired not knowing where to turn next. 

It’s my kitchen window.  I have no dishwasher. I am the dishwasher.  For 10 months it has become my source of peace and reconciliation. I make decisions at the window, remember list of to-do, go over poignant conversations of the day and I talk to you in my head.

The “you” is my friend who is no longer with me.  She was everything to everyone who ever met her: Instantly their friend.  She kept the bullies at bay in high school, there were many who had me in their sights.  And although our paths ventured through time, the notion of each other was never far away.

When we reconnected, she became again that confident and protector as though the years had never waned.  She encouraged me through tough times: told me of a light at an end of a very dark scary tunnel.  Then she encouraged me again to pursue options I was too afraid to reach for:  She became my biggest fan and my biggest critic: A role not taken by any other except by my Dad.

Her absence this past year has left me breathless, wordless: Unable to finish many of my usual writings.  I have written pieces many times, only to leave them in the folder incomplete.  Knowing that she wouldn’t call and critique the latest post was something I looked forward to was a treat.  That gift is gone.  

Other friends have nudged me gently to resume and for a time I pursued a different path.  A path I discovered was not really me: A cooking blog.  I don’t do things well in the kitchen! My friend knew this about me.  She often banned me to corner of her kitchen with the most childlike task, hoping silently I wouldn’t ruin her appliances or burn the food.  She attempted to teach me things, while I stared blankly at her. When I failed she gave up, exclaiming that I was truly the worst cook she had ever met.  She never gave up, even at the end of her life.  She left us swinging hard at home base.

She still comes to me in dreams.  It is always a good dream involving water, where I am trying to rescue her, but she needs no rescue. She assures me the she is okay.  She is there to check on me as usual. I am bewildered: Shouldn’t I have had the chance to rescue her for once, If only in a dream?  Her name is never far from my lips or those of my children.  We speak often of her and laugh when we think of things that would have made her laugh.

She is laughing now:  For she would not want us to be sad for long.  The time of sadness is passed.  She doesn’t need a rescue any longer.  We need only to rescue ourselves now.  And laugh at the good times as we look out that window .

Looking out the kitchen window this morning, I see clear blue skies, and a new Spring green popping from the Maple in the yard.

 I love you Suspott.  It’s going to be a beautiful day.

Peace.