Thank you for remembering Ana last week with your cranes. I loved seeing everyone’s photos. I also loved seeing the occasional photo of Ana that I’d never seen before. I saved those when I saw them–what an incredible gift to see her face in new ways.
The 22nd was a day that was both overwhelming and beautiful. I didn’t go to as many places as I imagined I would – the emotional exhaustion was huge. But then I realized that I didn’t need to go to every single place she loved because you were all out there, leaving cranes in the places I couldn’t reach.
I’ve had a bit of a grief relapse since last Wednesday (no doubt exacerbated by the destruction of almost a dozen trees across the street from my house).
I’m trying to grapple with the amount of time that has passed since I last saw Ana and the reality that sometimes she feels very far away. I still think about her every day, but I don’t cry every day. I still have a hard imagining a future of years, not weeks or months, but even that’s beginning to shift. Everyone says the second year is harder than the first and I’m afraid of what this means, afraid I’ll fall back into deep despair. I’m still trying to reach Ana, feel her presence, and fold her into my heart so that she moves forward with me.
Here is one more poem that I’m posting as closure to last week. Thanks again for remembering my sweet girl. #cranesforana
Horses at Midnight without a Moon
by Jack Gilbert
Our heart wanders lost in the dark woods.
Our dream wrestles in the castle of doubt.
But there’s music in us. Hope is pushed down
but the angel flies up again taking us with her.
The summer mornings begin inch by inch
while we sleep, and walk with us later
as long-legged beauty through
the dirty streets. It is no surprise
that danger and suffering surround us.
What astonishes is the singing.
We know the horses are there in the dark
meadow, because we can smell them,
can hear them breathing.
Our spirit persists like a man struggling
through the frozen valley
who suddenly smells flowers
and realizes the snow is melting
out of sight on top of the mountain,
knows that spring has begun.