Feathers in the Sand

I'd heard from a fair number of other widows and widowers I've gotten to know of things that come around that're signs from their deceased spouse. It's been a variety of things, from butterflies to dragonflies to electronics acting up and even finding heart-shaped things around them. It'd been something I wished I had happen for quite some time. I hadn't had that experience, of something that would show up that would let me know that she's still around, that she still thinks of me. That I matter to her still.

Until just recently.

I was at a family reunion in northern California. My Dad's side of the family got together for the first time in years. It wasn't all of us, but it was a good-sized majority, With the exception of my brother and three cousins, all of us were there. The aunt who put it all together has a house in a little town on the coast just north of San Francisco. She arranged for a couple other houses to be available for us, too. We were easy walking distance from the beach, maybe 30 yards or so from the front door of the house where I was staying to the start of the sand. And it made it plenty easy to go for walks along the water. Most of them were done with other people, either paired up or small groups. But I did one walk alone. I was needing to clear my head and work through some of my own stuff, because the last time I'd been out there had been with me darlin' wife. And that was pushing some buttons. I didn't want to take any of that out on anyone else, so I headed out on my own for a bit.

I still don't know what clicked. I'd been walking awhile and was feeling the effort, especially of keeping up a good pace in the sand. It wasn't completely dry, but it also wasn't completely wet and packed, either. I still wonder if it took me getting physically tired enough to get at least some of me out of the way enough for something to get through. But at one point I found myself looking down and noticing some of the feathers that were scattered along the beach. There were a fair number of them, fallen from the gulls and the pelicans that were always around. One, in particular, caught my eye. On an impulse, I picked it up and brushed the grains off of it. And then I stuck it back, quill-end first, into the sand so that it stood up, aligned with the wind. Looking at it, the thought hit me that it was the same color of brown as me darlin' wife's hair had been.

And it clicked. It was from her.

For the rest of the time there, I'd make a bit to go down to the beach and, if I saw other feathers that caught my attention like that, I'd stand 'em up in the sand. Each one made me a little sad. Even more, though, they reminded me of her, of what she looked like, of how she'd smile. Of how she liked to be outside. Of how there were a lot of times that she liked spending time together.

The funny post-script came the night after I got back. It'd been raining and windy when I went outside. In the driveway, I found a small feather, just about the same shade of brown. With that kind of weather, it shouldn't have been there. If the wind hadn't blown it halfway across the state, the rain should've washed it into the gutter and down a drain. But there it was. Another nod from her. I have it inside the house now, as I couldn't find any sand to stand it in.

I've kept my eyes open since. I'm sure there'll be more. She'll say “Hi” again.

The Last Magical Place

It's been awhile since I posted anything. I've been dealing with a rather nasty bout of depression that's finally starting to lift some. I'd thought it had started kicking in shortly after the 3-year anniversary of her death, back in February. Talking with some friends and family, they've said that it started earlier than that, maybe back around Thanksgiving. Regardless, it'd been making things harder and harder for quite some time. I finally had the sense to get help for it, and it seems like it's paying off. I'd wanted to write before, but this is the first time I've actually felt able to do so. Hopefully it'll be something I can get back to regularly, as I know it'd helped before.

This last weekend I went for a hike. I'd gone to the same area a week before, though not to exactly the same spots. I'd first gone there with me darlin' wife when we celebrated our 10-year anniversary. In addition to renewing our vows, we'd gone to an inn up in one of the local canyons. The dinner was fantastic, the room was nice, and breakfast kept up with dinner. That second day, we went for a hike up at the top of the canyon. We'd headed up to a place called Twin Lakes, and the trail leads to the eastern edge, where a dam holds that side of the lake in place. We then went on around the lake to the western edge, which is against the side of the mountain slope below a saddle between two peaks. It's a kind of isolated spot, and it'd felt magical when we'd been there. We hadn't planned on hiking that far, but it'd really made the day. I hadn't been back to that specific place.

Until this last Saturday, three days ago.

Even then, I hadn't planned to go back there. I'd planned to hike a loop that would take me to the eastern edge of Twin Lakes, to where the trail meets the dam and would take me back down. Due to a rather curious series of events, I ended up with more time than I'd thought I'd have, and it led to following....something. Something inside me wanted to take another trail, to see where it would go, and yet another that split off from it. The end result was coming to the saddle behind the western edge of Twin Lakes overlooking that spot. As I was hiking there, the thought had come up of stopping by that place. I'd felt anxious and uneasy about it, wondering why I'd go. Wondering what I'd find. Wondering if it'd be worse if I found...nothing. And I just didn't want to go.

And yet I ended up down there.

The trail I saw that looked like it led down from the saddle disappeared halfway down the slope. The clearest way down through the scree and undergrowth of plants would lead there. In retrospect, it was stupidly dangerous to go off-trail through that area. I'm lucky I didn't break something on the way down there. But I ended up back at that place. At the edge of the lake. Where it'd felt magical being with her.

And I found...memories. It was the first time in months, more than I can count off-hand, that I was able to remember her with warmth and affection. For months, I'd not wanted to think about her, not if I could help it. And when I did, it was often hung up on how she left or how rough things were for the last few years. How I'd stood by her and done so much to try to help, only to have her do....this. But in that place, I could remember her smile. The warmth I felt seeing it. How much she trusted me. How much she was willing to share of herself. How much she accepted me.

I don't think I stayed there all that long, maybe 20 minutes or so. And then I had to go. It was too much. It was overloading having all that come back all at once. But it hit me on the way out, that it was the last of the places that'd felt magical for us, the last one I hadn't been to yet. That there were no more places to go to, to try to find memories or some sense of her. There's nothing left to look for, to hope for.

To be afraid of.