Some of the Words

Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world’s great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time…under the rocks are words, and some of the words are theirs. I am haunted by waters. – A River Runs Through It and Other Stories, Norman Mclean

Beautiful words stop me in my tracks. I read them or hear them and just absorb them. They take root, melding with image and memory. I do not fly fish. I have never set foot in Montana. Yet, the reverence I feel in moments of stillness recalling this passage is humbling.

The preceding paragraph reads in part, “So now nearly all those I have loved and did not understand when I was young are dead, but I still reach out to them…in the Arctic half-light of the canyon, all existence fades into a being with my soul and memories and sounds of the big Blackfoot River and a four-count rhythm and the hope that a fish will rise.”

The voices we have lost – Doug’s, my Dad’s, all whom we have loved – I have to believe they remain. I still reach out to them. It is comforting to think that their words, their presence, their being are not only a part of those of us who loved them, but part of time immemorial, carried by waters that were here before us and will continue after us, waters into which we too eventually shall merge.

I sometimes pause on the word “haunted.” There are moments when what I perceive as a nod toward regret rings true. Did we do all that we could for those we loved? I’ve taken comfort in another of the story’s passages which posits the notion that we can love completely without complete understanding. Yes, I believe we can, and yes, I believe we did. There is so much we cannot know, that we take by faith, for which we always hope. Amid all of this, love stands, firm and steadfast.

I do hope I did my best for you, every day, especially today, on what would have been your birthday. You are in my heart, always.

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