Unseen companions

 

I parked the car and walked the two blocks to the beach, a walk I have taken countless times over the last seven years. Too tired to walk for exercise, I sat on one of the cement benches (not the most comfortable, it has to be said) on the bluff above the beach, and stared out to the ocean. The Pacific Ocean, oh so beautiful. Oh so many memories further back, further back than the seven years.

Paddle boarders and a few surfers were in the water. Others sunned themselves on the sand. A weekday, it was remarkably empty but then, everyone’s working hard.

Something caught my eye. Something in the water. Dolphins. Several dolphins – I couldn’t count – gracefully, lazily glided in parallel to the beach. Runners and walkers and cyclists kept pounding down the pavement, oblivious to the wonder of these beautiful swimmers slipping through the water, overtaking them effortlessly.

It’s such a poignant, sad time, and as I work my way through a challenging list of things that need to be done when someone dies, I am beginning to seize the moments to sit quietly, to remember, to grieve.

In his final prayer in church yesterday, Pastor Dan prayed with confidence that when one’s physical eyes shut on this world, one’s spiritual eyes open to see the face of Jesus. Yes, that is where Mom is now, out of her constraints and into the freedom of the Kingdom.

That is such a consolation, and so I grieve, but am not without hope, as Paul writes. I smile and cry over so many memories. Sat alone in a booth at a place Mom loved to go, Mimi’s, and ate what she would have eaten: quiche, fresh fruit, a blueberry muffin and coffee. And remembered the many, many times she had sat across from me.

As the dolphins, unseen, paralleled the walkers on the shore, so I imagine that perhaps Mom, unseen, parallels me now. And I know for certain that Jesus is with me, guiding, comforting, and answering so many prayer requests.