Grant Avenue Run

I captured the following memory as I sat on the back porch of Barbara's cabin.

When I was in Boulder last week, I went for an early morning run. Laced up my shoes and put on a jacket, for a Texas girl to wear a jacket in June is a strange occurrence and you know you are not in Texas!!

As I left the cozy neighborhood of cabins I headed down Grant Avenue. This name reminded me of my good college friend Cheryl Grant.

The road kept going and going.  Gorgeous homes, tiny little sweet houses – great front porches with flowerpots and chairs. Porches that are used and that people live on to enjoy their breathtaking scenery and perfect weather in the summer. 

The yards are small but the trees are so large and the flowers so bright that you get lost in each one and they feel large and magical.  Everyone is out walking.  Men, women, young and old.

Getting outside is required because who could miss another glorious day in a place that feels this special. The mountains hold you in this safe blanket of wonder and respect. I get to the end of the street and there is a cemetery. An old, gorgeous cemetery. I find the gate and step in –

It is actually inviting. The headstones date back to the 1800’s. Names, dates, families, prayers, blank stones, big trees. You know that every person that is there had a story. Something that only they did in their lifetime. And that they left other loved ones behind that love them, remember them and miss them.

And for this moment – I am comfortable with death.

Because at some point we must accept this and embrace that it will happen and be okay with all of what comes with it. I can read these names and conjure up pictures of “Mother,” “Daughter,” “Father.”

What will be placed on that stone?

What does it hold for the living?

Will we ever know? Will we ever be able to say?

“At Rest” is on one of the stones.  That is all.

Let that sit in a place that brings you comfort. 

Oh, I want it to be true. Maybe – the “at rest” is for our hearts. Maybe our heart will be at rest with the pain, longing and sadness that still comes crashing down on us at times. The tears that are gone and then one day you are reminded by a song, a memory, a smell, an old story. Oh, I guess this is the price we pay for love and loving another.

This is the price we pay for living. And those of us that are left behind, while some are “at rest.”

We are left to face these days, the “rest” of our lives without them. At times it can be done and other times it feels impossible.

We are frozen in the reality of missing them. And we must keep moving on without them. Good days, sad days and sometimes, just days. Today, I felt at peace with death.

I think it is a tiny step of healing.