In the Land of Grief
My specialist sent me to a local blood lab for testing to aid him in my diagnosis. The suite of offices is located on the sixth floor of Crain Towers, it's space largely occupied by medical professionals and related services.
You can see for miles from this vantage point. This area isn't far from the water as Baltimore and many adjacent communities hug the western shores of the Chesapeake Bay. Bridges dot the horizon looking north from the building's location.
I was amazed at the distances viewable from the windows there. I could even see the bridges that lead into Dundalk.
In the land of grief a bridge may lead one's mind to memories of joy and loss, beyond painful.
Dundalk is where my late son, Jonathan used to live.
I know he is no longer there. These are but earthly landmarks by which I steer my thoughts of him. It doesn't even have to be an earthly place. I stare at the night sky bejewelled by billions of stars, a radiant moon bright as God's spotlight beaming upon my upturned, searching face. I survey the blue skies and flocks of clouds as they drift upon unseen winds far above where my feet reside.
But I do not see him. I am grateful for the reminders. What I'm learning is to embrace the memories but not dwell on them. The pain grips me when I linger too long with the memories of people I love who have passed on.
I can't stop myself from viewing the bridge to Dundalk from a distance any more than I can halt my breathing and suffer no ill effects. I'm learning to look and then turn away, back to the present.
The bridge will be there for a long time. I hope to one day see it as a bridge that leads somewhere else, to something new. Something more than healing.
On the cusp of a wonderful thing?
You can see for miles from this vantage point. This area isn't far from the water as Baltimore and many adjacent communities hug the western shores of the Chesapeake Bay. Bridges dot the horizon looking north from the building's location.
I was amazed at the distances viewable from the windows there. I could even see the bridges that lead into Dundalk.
In the land of grief a bridge may lead one's mind to memories of joy and loss, beyond painful.
Dundalk is where my late son, Jonathan used to live.
I know he is no longer there. These are but earthly landmarks by which I steer my thoughts of him. It doesn't even have to be an earthly place. I stare at the night sky bejewelled by billions of stars, a radiant moon bright as God's spotlight beaming upon my upturned, searching face. I survey the blue skies and flocks of clouds as they drift upon unseen winds far above where my feet reside.
But I do not see him. I am grateful for the reminders. What I'm learning is to embrace the memories but not dwell on them. The pain grips me when I linger too long with the memories of people I love who have passed on.
I can't stop myself from viewing the bridge to Dundalk from a distance any more than I can halt my breathing and suffer no ill effects. I'm learning to look and then turn away, back to the present.
The bridge will be there for a long time. I hope to one day see it as a bridge that leads somewhere else, to something new. Something more than healing.
On the cusp of a wonderful thing?