riverWhen I open my eyes, I see the river flowing out to the sea, as it continues to do, day after day, regardless of what else the day brings with the sunrise. It brings a sense of permanence that steadies us in a world full of change and surprise. Some things seem to stay the same.  Yet the river, as it meanders past me, has changed even in these few years I have known it. Creeping farther up the bank each year, it sweeps more of the trees and the silt with each winter rainstorm and ensuing floods. Some mornings the glassy calm is a soothing balm while other days the white caps remind me of the larger pounding waves the river hurries past me to join. The original inhabitants of the river speak of the changes: it no longer teems with fish and its shores are no longer held secure with giant Sitka spruce reaching across the watery expanse. The river has its losses, too.

“To everything there is a season, and a time, and a purpose” the wise man said.
Recently I learned that a sister still carried guilt with her, many months after the death of her brother, because he died ALONE. She really hadn’t been shocked, because he had lived alone for so many years. But she carried guilt in her backpack, along with some sadness and a small packet of relief. She had wished that someone had been there because now she would always wonder…Had he been peaceful? Did he suffer? Had he been okay with his aloneness? And coincidentally she was glad he was “now at peace”. The one consolation she had was much of his living had been in solitude, which had been his preference for so many years, and she clung to the hope that he had died the way he wanted to.

Those things that seem so steady and abiding are changing, as we all are changing— sometimes in such subtle incremental ways that few around us notice; other times it may be obvious, that things are eroding and disappearing and soon there may be only the memory of what was. We will have to leave what we know—some day; leave all of it behind; even those dear ones who may or may not be with us when it is time to go.
“Be like a river that flows
Silent in the middle of the night
Not fearing the dark of the night,
Reflecting any star that is in the sky.
And if the sky fills with clouds,
Clouds are water, like the river, so
Reflect them too with no regret In the silent depth.”

– Manuel Bandeira, Brazilian poet

About Amy Getter

This entry was posted in end of life care and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

1 Response to A RIVER STORY

  1. noreen o'connell says:

    i read someplace that you can stand in a river and, as it whirls past, it is never the same river.
    always enjoy your posts, amy, thanks


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