michaelboy

In my early two-digits, I was afraid of my parents dying - as if this event would be unbearably wrong and would absolutely devastate me. I remember the feeling as clearly as the smell of the orange kapok-filled vest I wore while I watched my dad fishing in the Captina Creek and was afraid, that I wouldn't have him one day and that this man in his hip-waders would be gone.

I survived this and other loss - much better than my preemptive mind knew.

When I see miles of railroad torn apart and made into trails, or old roads that abruptly end in the wake of newish highways, I grieve. When I see old-style gas stations turned into carpet stores, I wince. Yet, it is okay -- more than okay. It reminds me of fresh soil turning and never forgetting that some of the best nourishment for new life comes from life that has been.

I suppose, I am still afraid of such things, but I am much braver with change now -- with loss there is beauty as surely as loss always allows a place for what was

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