A photo odyssey of my graduate school, Pacific University, and what I would show Lee, if I could. (Lee, my late husband, took his life on October 3, 2002.)
A classroom of fellow students. I would have known them better, but your shadow loomed between us, and I burned my foot when I tried to step across.
She bears the weight of the world on her shoulders. Even with extra arms, it’s sometimes too much.
Here’s where I sat when a reading reminded me too much of you. I called a man who wasn’t you, for comfort.
Scattered patterns of clustered blossoms. There are some patterns I choose not to repeat.
I still don’t like impatiens. They look too real, or not real at all. They look too good to be true.
This bench has the best breeze. A man, not you, showed it to me, and we sat and talked. About you.
My curvy, sweeping path of a life. There’s you – see the narrow, straight road that suddenly veers away?
I thought I caught a glimpse of you, but then you got lost in the shadows.
I’m sure there was a message, but it’s unreadable now.
I still don’t know who Alice Hoskins is. Amazing how you can spend years in a place, and still not know someone.
I couldn’t catch a clear photo of the butterfly. It’s because my camera was set to manual: I tried for too much control. Sometimes you have to let the camera, or the butterfly, decide.
I don’t have to look up to know the season. The dappled grass tells me summer has returned, that the trees are in full leaf. Deep maturity allows light through in the most beautiful patterns.
Hydrangeas still bloom, even without the man who loved their color best.
I know you assumed seminary, but I chose writing.
Time hides its face from me. At least, that’s what I tell myself.
The rock weeps, but I don’t, not anymore.
A spray of grassy blades, reminiscent of water fountaining up – life renewed again and again. I could have moved so my shadow didn’t show, but I decided it was part of the picture. Your shadow isn’t here, not anymore.
Transmuted from flora to fauna, from fixed to free, the feathery frond is poised to fly.
Seeking My Best Self 
So sorry about your losing your husband. I lost my wife, not through suicide, but through a deep depression that the doc said was very redactive – did not respond to treatment strategies they had available. She said it was my fault she was depressed and she wanted a divorce : (. After the divorce, she did get better and seems to be doing well now – -5 years later. She had the idea that I was fooling around – I wasn’t, but recently read that this is a side effect of some medications. Your photos and comments were touching and I could readily relate……
You and I are kindred spirits in life as well as philosophy, aren’t we? Thanks for sharing.
More than a decade, and “it” is still there, daily. Life now is quite wondrous. It’s just that “but … ” that pops up now and then through the day; a frustration that is dealt with but not fixable. And then I focus back on this moment. For now. And I do so know this day-pattern. Blessings.
Thank you, Neil! Peace be upon you and your home.
I’m so busy today that I almost pushed your blog notification aside to continue working on my own blog. I’m glad I didn’t. I cried through every picture. Your heart is evident in each thoughtful prose. Love. Life. Loss. Movement. Healing. You shared them all so beautifully. Thank you for being so genuinely YOU, so often!
Thank you for reposting this on Facebook. You are such a bright constellation in the universe. Blessings, Lesli!
I have no idea what to say–I just want to be with you in this.
Thank you, Kristy.
My Lee saw this before I got home from work and could hardly wait for me to see it too. It made us both happy/sad thinking about your Lee with his ready smile and brilliant mind. What an incredible way to remember him. Love you, cousin.
Awww. Your Lee is such a sweetie. And so are you. Thank you, guys.
Beautiful, Cherie Loved it.