Gauging the Fog

I have recently returned from a quick trip to Seattle. My peeps had just purchased a home when I had last visited, but had closed on the property the day after I had left, so while I had seen the outside briefly, I didn’t really have a sense of the space. So this was my first time seeing the new home and the extraordinary views they now had of the Seattle Bay.

After a few mornings of just standing in their beautiful home and looking out, I decided that waking up each morning overlooking the bay in Seattle epitomizes my life right now. There are days when the view is clear and your eyes and heart are drawn beyond the structures in front and you feel transported out into the very arms of nature and life. Possibilities and adventures are there and can keenly be felt.

Then there are mornings of heavy fog where only the immediate water nearby can be viewed and you can see nothing beyond. The mountains, the other shorelines, all points of reference, are now gone. And while parts of you are sure there is still the same views beyond, you can’t quite picture it fully without the slightest bit of reference to be had. With the view beyond restricted, you are forced to just notice that which is immediately in front. You feel forced to slow down and navigate with caution. When clear, it is easy to ignore that what must be passed through to reach the water and go beyond, but with the fog, the obstacles are the only points that seem to come into focus. The feelings of just cocooning and not venturing out are most prevalent. Grief is like those clouds.

The connection to the bay and the views from my friends home was an easy analogy to make, but the reality was that the morning fog that physically consumed the bay and skyline was truly contrasted by the sunshine that came each day from within the house with a lively three year old and the anticipation of another babe in just a few weeks time, and – surprisingly for this time of year – from the sunshine that burned off those clouds and made for brightness outside as well.

We practiced riding a bike with no training wheels.

We hung out telling stories and pretending to be Disney movie characters.

We walked to the beach nearby.

We spread some of Ted in the yard, and shared some of their memories of him, so that he is now part of their space too.

People ask “how are you?”, but don’t realize what an impossible question that is. The answer changes with every breath, every thought, every song, every transformative breeze that is felt, heard and sensed.

It might be easier to say how close or far the fog is in my emotional view than to answer how I am on any given day.

Rest assured that most days, the clouds might sweep in, but get burned off by the brightness of my friends and family who fill my life with support and love from the calls, texts and cards. Thank for being part of the sunshine in my life.

Love, Sally

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