Lost and Found

I’ve come here on my bike to the natural burial ground to sit with my daughter Annabel in the woods for a while. It’s almost 9 years to the day she died and my wife and I return here all the time, usually together. Today on this bright September Sunday morning I’m alone. Well….. I am for a little while, until in the distance I hear the tap-tap-tap of a walking stick and the chat-chat-chat of approaching voices—an elderly man and woman slow-stepping the narrow path. I shut my eyes in a slight involuntary grimace and inwardly groan, hoping they will pass by. He notices my bike in the bushes. I think I’m unseen to their left, and they do pass by—but only going on for a few yards—where they stop, and, as if rehearsing for a play, they continue their ad-libbed echoing vocals. Mostly it drifts by, over and beyond me, but I have to say it’s hard to ignore. “I didn’t shave this morning”, “Will I break the camera?” he jokes. “I see no ships!”..... “only hardships” he quips again. After a while, someone they know joins them. They say hello, ask how she is and talk to her about her loss. For a few brief moments there is respite, and the levity subsides. This awareness gradually drifts from mind and I relax a little, thankfully noticing as the volume fades that they are walking away.

 

Settling into stillness—it’s as if the channels have changed—and here, sitting on the wooden bench which has been placed by someone in memory of another person, I hear and see clearly again. The way it is—the pigeon calling; the bee buzzing; the cool breeze; rustling leaves and wisps of grass; dappled light bathing the summer scene in golden splendour; the butterfly pausing; the body and mind resting—all is flowing, changing—I breathe again. Of course, this is the way it was all along, but the mind is very partial to words and people, so for a time I was caught up and unaware of all this and probably much more.

Then (would you believe it!?) voices are approaching from the right and behind me. It’s very busy here this morning in this wide wild expanse, with acres of woodland, and within this space, all these people have decided to come close to me. They don’t have to be near me, do they? Well…. they just are, because like me, they have come to be with lost loved-ones. Seems like a family this time—a man, woman, child, an older woman. The man makes jokes like the other man did—often in poor taste—and he adds frequent chuckles. I tell myself he’s uneasy because of the situation. I wonder if they can see me and I’m pretty sure they can—they are very close by. I hope I don’t put them off….. and then I notice a strange sense of disappointment when they carry on chatting away as if I’m not there at all! Am I really here?! I think to myself.

Eventually, these people too go on their way, hardly breaking-step in their discourse—and with another sigh of relief, nature returns. It never went away.

 

In peace again, leaving the bench, I wander a few soft steps to Annabel’s place, passing and greeting the little metallic grey Buddha that someone has carefully chosen to watch over another. As I always do, squatting down on my heels to be close to earth, I put my hands flat on the green-cool moss and feel the cushioned impression being formed by my gentle warming touch. There is a sea of wild strawberry leaves here and a grand display in miniature of the living countryside. A little vole scurries in my direction, catches sight of me—or senses my presence in some way—has second thoughts and quickly runs back the way he came! We are never alone; there are always others present.

The fact is, we often put our lost loved ones in a special place, either physically or in mind, I guess to help us to remember—to commemorate and celebrate their having existed. ‘Thank you for being in my life’. Of course no-one wants to lose anyone, so if they’re in a special place, they’re not really lost—we can easily go there and find them. Then we can become aware that others naturally do the same—it hasn’t just happened to us—death and loss are natural and inevitable facts of life. I say ‘can become aware’, because recognising, accepting and being at one with this is hard and we want to deny and fight against it for all we're worth. We are very clever at turning away from and avoiding facing the truth—the mind wants to possess and hang on to things any way it can (space and people) and to have everything just so and in control. “Go away, this is my place—special to me!” “Don’t you know how important this time is?!” I smile to myself about this thought-realisation—this indignation and frustration that I feel at having to share my space and time with others—and I give this smile to Annabel. She had and still has a lovely sweet smile. A smile that lives in my heart—which it’s true is another special place—but it’s not an escape from reality. I know that. And I won’t ever lose her smile and I don’t have far to go to find it—and the sadness or happiness or whatever it is that’s there in that moment as well. 

Letting go of anniversaries—there are none solely belonging to me—there is only now, which is there for all of us, and all is changing and unfolding just as it will.

So now I go steadily in awareness on my way with my bike, sharing the air we breathe and the ground we touch.
 

[I wrote a little book for Annabel, and anyone who has lost a loved one ~ 'Bella's Way']