“There comes a time when the world gets quiet and the only thing left is your own heart. So you’d better learn the sound of it. Otherwise you’ll never understand what it’s saying.”
― Sarah Dessen
I’ve been thinking of the concept of time lately. I’ve been thinking about the timing of life’s greatest surprises.
I’ve been thinking, the last few days, of the girl I was (in my early twenties) when I lost my grandmother and the person I am today (in my mid thirties) – because of her and thanks to so many others.
I’m thankful to them all.
My family have lost both my cousin and my grandmother in the month of July and we never forget.
I’m thankful for the time I had with my grandma and that I can remember her on this day and every other.
When we lost first my cousin, followed almost precisely one year later by my grandmother, I was adrift in my twenties and things wouldn’t become clearer for several years.
When I think of how much I miss those loved ones and the person I was when they were still here, I wish to turn back time, but then I stop, pause and ponder, and my present and future beckon.
I’m thankful for moving writing like this.
I’m thankful for the hope that much waited for political change can bring.
From my standpoint, born in Canada, Ive recently been lucky to hear stories, firsthand, from another’s place in the world.
As much as I worry about where we are, I know there’s a big big world out there, one still fighting hard for something better.
I’m thankful for music.
Listening to music helps me sort out my feelings. It has recently become energizing and lyrics and feelings music provokes, this awakens me to the possibilities.
I’m thankful for a blood moon and a lunar eclipse, even if I can’t see all of that.
Do I wish I could see these? Yes, I do.
But I can still see the moon and I can feel the power it has over the earth and everything on it. The way it moves the tides is a powerful example.
I can love the fact that it is “blood,” “orange,” or “Red” and I don’t stop, won’t stop imagining what that looks like.
I’m thankful for my ability to cry.
When I heard the news, I cried, letting my hot stinging tears trickle from my eyes, onto my pillow and down into my hair.
Whether it’s from a sudden great loss or a rush of extraordinary emotion in the face of something real, crying (even a little) reminds me that I am loved, of my ability to love, simply to feel alive.
I’m thankful for the feeling that I’m flying.
I’m thankful for the desert.
I know very little of this climate, up close, other than the sands I stood on on my Yukon trip last year.
Not exactly the same as in this song I realize.
Whether Sting is singing about the desert or rain – from the sands to the ocean deep, as in my favourite IMAX movies.
I remember the first time I heard the above song. I was in high school and my friend’s mother had picked us up at the movies. We were driving in her van and Desert Rose came on the radio. I was blown away, as there was nothing else really like it on the radio in Canada and I felt like I was being transported, somewhere far far from my home.
I’m thankful for the rain.
Last time it was fire and this time it is rain.
“Ever since I met you on a cloudy “Wednesday,” I can’t believe how much I love the rain.”
(Lyric from a Chantal Kreviazuk song, which I’ve altered only slightly.)