I just found this short reflection I wrote back on May 14, when I was about 25 weeks pregnant and Tony and I had been talking a lot about our individual brands of depression. I figured Id share it here since Ive already practically bared my soul to all you strangers, so what the hell. -- i am haunted by waters - Tuesday, May 14, 2013 One of my dads favorite movies of all times is A River Runs Through It, and being that he and I are a lot alike, passed his love for it down to me years ago. I think it is the reason he got into fly fishing when I was young, and I remember being up north in the grass in front of our rented cottage, being instructed on the rhythm of the cast. Not long after, he took me on a trip. He took us on a lot of trips but I never got him to myself in those days so this was special. We arrived when it was dark, and the road there was lined with the most doe Ive ever seen before or since. I lost count at 70. We slept in the car and I was thrilled at the adventurousness of it even though I was cold and uncomfortable. In the morning, I put on waders that went up to my chin and we took our gear to the river. The water was icy cold and my feet sank into the mud, threatening to hold me there forever. We went home empty-handed, but that is still one of my favorite memories. I havent seen A River Runs Through It in a long time so I put it in last night. Its strange experiencing things now that are old loves. Its endlessly sad how age steals a persons sense of wonder. The movie had a lot more poetry in it than I remembered, and Im not overly fond of it these days, but there were a few lines that stole my attention back. One of the heaviest being the last sermon, and I realized how much of the movie was about being helpless in the face of a loved ones suffering. Its kind of fitting, given all that my brother is going through. Mothers Day was sad, as days pregnant with expectation usually are, and I knew it would be. But knowing didnt make the day any easier. I spent the day with family but went home early. I wanted someone to eat dinner with, but as I sat there alone, I realized that all day, all I really wanted was just to feel sorry for myself. So I did. -- Heres the last voice-over monologue of the movie, with the sermon: As time passed, my father struggled for more to hold onto, asking me again and again had I told him everything. Finally I said to him, Maybe all I really know about Paul is that he was a fine fisherman. You know more than that, my father said. He was beautiful. That was the last time we ever spoke of my brothers death. Indirectly, though, Paul was always present in my fathers thoughts. l remember the last sermon l heard him give, not long before his own death. Each one of us here today will, at one time in our lives, look upon a loved one who is in need and ask the same question, We are willing to help, Lord, but what, if anything, is needed? It is true we can seldom help those closest to us. Either we dont know what part of ourselves to give or more often than not, the part we have to give is not wanted. And so it is those we live with and should know who elude us but we can still love them. We can love completely without complete understanding. Now nearly all those I loved and did not understand in my youth are dead. Even Jessie. But I still reach out to them. Of course, now Im too old to be much of a fisherman. And now I usually fish the big waters alone although some friends think I shouldnt. But when I am alone in the half-light of the canyon, all existence seems to fade to a being with my soul, and memories and the sounds of the Big Blackfoot River and a four-count rhythm and the hope that a fish will rise. Eventually, all things merge into one and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the worlds great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of the rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words and some of the words are theirs. I am haunted by waters.
Posted on: Fri, 31 Jan 2014 15:09:30 +0000
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