Early this morning I was sitting on the deck looking out at the lake.  It’s the first morning of my entire 3 week stay that hasn’t dawned sunny and calm.  This morning the lake has little ripples on it and the sky is gray.  I’m eating my blueberries and cheerios, feet up on the deck railing contemplating nothing much at all when I happen to glance over at the neighbor’s pontoon floating gently at their dock.

It’s the pontoon we used to spread Mom’s and later Dad’s ashes.  The pontoon that held my remaining family and my parents’ minister as we said our last goodbyes.  I could see us all standing on it, crying and tossing flowers into the water.  I remember the words their minister used to try to console us.  I remember the deep, dark place we were all in.  And tears slid down my face.  Mom died six years ago this Sunday and this morning I am sitting on their deck eating my breakfast and remembering.  Missing them.

Then from across the lake somewhere a dog barks, a lawnmower starts, a fishing boat chugs.  A new day has begun and I take a deep breath and head out to the airport to pick up my husband.