It's a quiet morning. The silence of my apartment is heavy, made heavier by the snow outside dampening all traffic noise. Of course the fact that I cannot hear all that well, especially out of my left ear, helps too. Nobody is home except me; I sit in peaceful calm, no intrusive noise.
It's a quiet morning. I hear the ticking of the clock behind me. I think my tap in the kitchen may be dripping; perhaps I didn't quite shut it off all the way. The clicking of the keys as my fingers travel across my laptop is about the loudest thing. This silence has weight, mass; it is heavy, blanketing me as the snow blankets the ground outside. This silence drips into every pore and crack, weighing me down like the snow weighs down the branches of the tree outside my window. This silence is living, pervasive, thick.
It is a quiet morning. I don't mind the silence that much this morning. I am just surprised by its density. I am alone in my apartment. A friend came over last night. We watched the Canucks lose another hockey game. We ate left-over Chinese food for dinner and had chips and Pina Coladas and Ceasers. I didn't stay up all that late. In fact I went to bed early in the third period of the game. Others in my "gang" are coming over today and still more will be around to help me during the week.
I often say I am lucky when talking about my son and my friends all checking in on me, making sure I am not alone or at least not alone as much as I might be if I didn't have them. When I say I am lucky what I really mean is I am grateful. I never seem to have enough words to tell them, especially Ricky, about my gratitude. I try but it comes out maudlin. I try but I can't really express how important they are in making this journey bearable. It's bad enough being lonely, which I am a lot of the time. To be alone and lonely would be so much worse.
Some of you know that I have a Christian faith, a belief structure that helps me. I am not all that expressive and in many ways don't act or sound like your church going bibliobot. I don't know what Heaven or Hell looks like, nor do I find a great deal of language in the Bible about it. Much of what the Church believes today is interpretation made by others. I like to think for myself.
Today I am thinking about the impact my friends and my son have on my life, how their engagement, caring and attention makes my life better. Perhaps this is what Christ meant when he said He will be found in all of us. Each of these people, with their powerful presence in my life, is a living embodiment of what He has given me, a daily reminder of the gift of my life. Each person is present now, for me.
This is the gift for which I am truly grateful. Them. Just them.
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