A Quick Visit, Rainbow Included


It appears I may actually have survived a very, very hard year. I’m passing still more one-year anniversaries now, revisiting places I went to last year so soon after my parents passed away: the BlogHer conference, the Adirondacks, the U.S. Open. The pain and confusion I was feeling at that time comes back to me so clearly in revisiting these scenes—and helps me realize I’ve come so much further than I would have guessed. In recent months I’ve been punishing myself for being stuck, not having all the answers, not having created a clear and sure path.

Turns out I was wrong. (And I don’t admit that easily.)

But once again I’m re-living a lesson I wrote about in my book: life does go on, the days do roll one into the other, time does its work of healing and helping and mostly being marvelously indifferent to my pain. The indifference seems like a curse, but it’s a blessing: if time were to stop and pay attention to my agonies, it would slow down and keep me stuck longer than the long, long time it already is.

That underlines—once again—that pure magic I find in the Adirondacks: that landscape that doesn’t know I’m there, won’t know when I’ve come or gone. It will just go on being grand and glorious, having its forest fires and its rainbows, and I get to stop by and witness and see that the fact that the world does go on is one of its greatest gifts.

And yes, I saw a rainbow in the Adirondacks. A double rainbow, actually.

I’m taking it to be a very good sign.

*inhale*

*exhale*

*head bowed, hands clasped to heart*

About stacy

I am a writer, author, mother, former magazine editor (last at Redbook), optimist, and, above all, a searcher. I'm still searching for whom I'm really meant to be, after a series of very jarring losses: a divorce and house disaster that led to a book (Falling Apart In One Piece); a week after the book came out, my parents suddenly fell gravely ill, I resigned from my job (and, apparently, my career), my son went into crisis, my parents then rapidly died four weeks apart, and my boyfriend (who had moved in with me and my son just weeks before the book came out) began the painful journey of realizing we couldn't make our relationship work (that story unfolded on this blog). Since then I've been trying to figure out what's next. Or, in other words, how to fill in the blanks.
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9 Responses to A Quick Visit, Rainbow Included

  1. Stasha says:

    Somewhere, over the rainbow. Next years revisits you should look forward to!

  2. Lindsey says:

    That picture takes my breath away. Yes, yes, yes. A good sign. xox

  3. Santina says:

    a very good sign indeed!

  4. Victoria says:

    Beautiful post. This line in particular really struck me: “The pain and confusion I was feeling at that time comes back to me so clearly in revisiting these scenes—and helps me realize I’ve come so much further than I would have guessed.”

    Sometimes, we forget that life’s cyclic patterns can be a good thing, essential even.

    Thanks for the reminder, Stacy.

  5. Hi Stacy,
    What you’re talking about here with time, and its bigness and indifference as being soothing….It’s so true and I think this is also the very reason that we find nature to be so soothing. It puts us and our cares, our pain, in it’s place. We are just a tiny spec in the tapestry and in difficult times that weigh on our hearts we get disconnected from our true ‘smallness’. Time, the forest, the rainbows, and the waves, just keep rolling, and that is very comforting indeed. I think you even referenced in your book the healing aspect of being allowed to be small. I finished your book recently and absolutely loved it there was a lot of profound wisdom in those pages.

  6. edenland says:

    Double rainbows are extra-special. It’s the law.

    Hon I remember meeting you in the grief panel last year at BlogHer too. Next year – in NY, let’s have a cuppa and a chat.

    xox

  7. stacy says:

    Yes, please, Eden. I can’t wait to do that. xx

  8. I’ve been a bit behind on my blog reading, so I am just getting to this post now.

    Your words, as usual, resonate with me.

    As my father died, I recall stepping out of my little world (that hospital, his home hospice, etc.) to realize that the world was proceeding on, oblivious to my breaking heart, to my father’s pain and weakening body.

    And when he died, I found it strange that (despite how obvious it was) life for most of the world had not changed. Coffee drinkers in Starbucks, the cashier at the health food store, the fellow subway rider that I find on the same morning commute most days– They all don’t know my pain, my story. Their world had not just collapsed inward upon itself leaving them trapped in a maze of emotions.
    (of course… or had it? Had they had their own pain that I was oblivious to, that I knew nothing about?)

    There was something frustrating about this.
    Sometimes I wanted to shake them, “Do you know what I have been through?”

    And there was something comforting about it as well.
    That woman next to me drinking her espresso: she thinks I am normal and my heart is whole.
    She can’t see my grief.
    In her eyes, I am normal.

    Of course, life around me goes on and this forces me to find a rhythm and almost tricks me into believing I can do this… I can keep going… and before I know it, I too believe I can do this and go on.
    I am doing this: finding a way to live in this new chapter of life.

    Thank you for your beautiful and thoughtful words once again.
    They are powerful and inspiring.

    ~ Meredith From A Mother Seeking A Mother Seeking…

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