Rock Me, Mama

Yesterday I took a drive to Tacoma. I talked to my brother on the way. I had much to say. Unearthing little by little the rubble that was our relationship. I don’t use the phone to communicate with him because he’s not on the other end of the line anymore. What if he can’t hear me? Then I’m talking to myself, and that’s silly. I thanked him for coming to me in the dream a few weeks ago. I told him I would love a sign that he can hear me, that he is near.

The next day, today, I am sitting in my favorite coffee shop.

While waiting to turn into the the small parking lot, I could see it was packed with cars, many in unmarked spots.

As I waited for traffic to pass, a wave of calm came over me. I knew there would be a spot available, just for me.

I turned into the lot, carefully maneuvering between two vehicles, and onward straight into the only spot available. Easy! Nice.

I walked into the café feeling like a ragged traveler; worn and messy. A war-torn refugee, tired and sore.

I’m arriving at the oasis of coffee and sandwiches, ready to claim an empty table with my heavy backpack. I walk up to the counter and hear a familiar tune playing on the radio, “Rock me mama like a wagon wheel, rock me mama any way you feel, oooh oh mama rock me”... My chin lifts and a smile finds it’s way to my lips. You are here! I knew it. I secretly knew it. My brother’s favorite song. The song he sang and played on the guitar.

Timing is everything. There are so many “what-if’s”...

If I had left the house later I would have missed it. Sure. I don’t really know why it worked out so perfectly, and I don’t need to. I accept this gift, and I thank the one from whom it came from.

I have felt so very alone in my grief, and in many ways I am. No one could possibly experience what I’m experiencing, and I wouldn’t want them to. In a way, it makes it special. The bond I shared with my brother is special. Unique. Still existing. Not gone.

Though I feel alone, we are not meant to walk these paths alone. But if I’m honest, I have preferred to be alone.

The silence has been a friend.

The darkness, not so much.

I know from experience that isolation will lead to a very unfriendly forest. I will not go back there.