"When I look to the sky"

"When it rains it pours and opens doors and floods the floors we thought would always keep us safe and dry" Train

Photo courtesy of Pixabay

Last year before I moved to Substack, I posted the essay below on my old website about a family in town. It will make for a long read today, but it's important to read the initial post to tell the story. 

Thoughts and Prayers (written on May 27, 2022)

A post to save the thoughts and prayers in the world.

While I have my opinions, I, for the most part, shy away from writing about politics or religion, which seems to eliminate many topics. I leave that for the stronger of heart. It could be said I write about life, but I think more accurately, I write about feelings associated with life. And while I don’t always write about happy topics, I try to find the positive in whatever I’m discussing. It can be a daunting task. Today is one of those days.

As our nation reels from yet another school shooting, I ask myself what I can possibly write about after this horrendous event that even remotely centers on the positive?  

I know right now that the phrase “thoughts and prayers” is under attack, and rightfully so. It is a time for action in our country, not words. This post in no way takes issue with the point that many of our citizens are raising, “replace words with action.” I COMPLETELY AGREE. 

But because I’m a wordsmith of sorts, I’d like to preserve the words “thoughts and prayers” for us commoners and instances when they might really send something of importance. Let’s not dump that phrase out in the bathwater, you know, the saying about the baby and the bathwater? Oh man, I always misquote the old sayings. Rick is surely shaking his head.

So, here’s my thinking, I’d like to keep that phrase alive because what is the alternative aside from no response, which might indeed be worse? We all need to believe we are supported in our most challenging times. And most people are not poets, nor do they know how to effectively communicate grief. They settle for sending phrases like “thoughts and prayers.” I also settle for the words if I’m sending it to someone I don’t know very well or at all. Here’s a recent personal story demonstrating what those simple words can mean in a bigger picture.

As I’ve mentioned, I live in a tiny town. It has one intersection of commerce, which includes a grocery store, pharmacy, optometrist, gas station, bank, flower shop, hair salon, post office, a few restaurants, a bar, dentist, and my favorite little wine tasting venue, Rosa-Lucca. I’m missing a few businesses, but you get the picture. 

There is a coffee shop just as I enter the town, up a driveway to the right. A small trailer sits parked on the little lot. Welcome flags wave from the street, inviting patrons to slow down and stop in. An American flag waves proudly on a large flag pole in the center of the lot. You can drive through, pick up your coffee/food, and circle back out to the street. 

While I’ve never frequented the coffee shop, I’ve heard people talking in the market about some of the great selections offered. A few months back, I’ve lost track of how many, I read a disturbing post on Nextdoor about someone’s child dying. And I will say now, before I write this, that I could be wrong on some of these facts. I never investigated. I put my ideas together based on what little I heard. And even if I am not accurate on what family lost their son, the message will still translate.

Putting what little I knew together, I felt that perhaps it was the child of the family who ran the coffee shop. The coffee shop sat quietly from that day forward, no cars driving through, no flags waving in the wind, and the American flag flying at half-mast. I sent my “thoughts and prayers” to the family each time I drove by.

Time passed. I never stopped checking in on the little shop. Then one day, I noticed a flyer on the notice board outside our Holiday Market announcing a celebration of life for a 23-year-old boy occurring the following Sunday. I stopped to read it and admired the sweet-looking young man in the photo. I had to dry my tears before I walked into the market. The following Sunday, I thought about the family sending them “thoughts and prayers.”

Time continued to pass, and the little shop showed no signs of reopening. I never stopped sending my thoughts and prayers that the grief-stricken family would find their way back to the living. And last week, on my way to Auburn, just as I was passing the driveway, I caught a glimpse of a waving flag. I slammed on my brakes (good thing I live in a little town with very little traffic). 

There they were, all five or six of the welcome flags waving in the wind, and the American flag in the middle of the property no longer at half-mast. I cried all the way through the canyon, grateful for our ability to heal physically and emotionally; what a blessing that we can at times take for granted. 

This family will likely never know me, nor will they know how many times I’ve sent them thoughts and prayers. I’m no one special, just one in the masses of amazing, incredible, compassionate, and loving people. Our thoughts have power, and our feelings are made of pure energy that can travel between us across the miles regardless of whether we understand how. I never underestimate the human spirit and what we are capable of. 

Join me in sending thoughts and prayers to the families of the recent massacre. Let’s believe in our thoughts to help lift the victims and continue to remember them in the coming months. They will need our help.

It turned out unfortunately that I was accurate about the family who ran the little shop. They lost their adult son Colton on February 13th of last year. It's likely no coincidence that I'm ready to write this post as the anniversary of his passing has arrived. I only discovered that fact a week after I began writing this series, my angels must be nudging me along.

I only had a few readers in town when I posted this piece, so not many people in Cool read it. One of those few, though, was Leah Ann Zogg, a close friend of Kathy, Colton's mother. I met Leah Ann for the first time in August when my friend Lynette (I've written about previously here) scheduled a mani-pedi with her friends before she left for Florida. 

 Little did I know that as one door was closing— Lynette moving across the states— another door was opening. Leah Ann welcomed me like a long-lost friend. I learned quickly that she is a person who lifts others, always on a crusade to right a wrong, mend a fence, or fill a need— a mover and a shaker in the best ways. 

It's an understatement to say that Leah Ann made it clear that she was a serious fan of my blog. She invited me to walk with her morning group and suggested we visit the little coffee shop afterward to meet Kathy. I informed her in no uncertain terms that I could not meet Kathy without crying. She responded, "Good, that's what she needs."

Well, okay then, I was to meet Kathy. A few weeks later I joined Leah Ann, her walking buddies, and her brother, who was visiting that day. We hiked toward the river, chatting about this, that, and the other. After the walk, Leah Ann, her brother, and I headed over to Kathy's coffee shop. My heart was pounding, but I trusted Leah Ann's judgment. 

As we neared the little trailer’s window, Leah Ann greeted her old friend and told her that she had someone she wanted her to meet. Kathy responded that she would be busy for a few minutes but promised she would break away to come over to sit with us. 

That's when Leah Ann informed me that she intended to have Kathy read my post. 

In two words, I was gobstruck; okay, one word. It would be hard enough to just say hi; nice to meet you. Instead, Kathy would read the post that still makes me cry when I read it? 

I swallowed hard and summoned my courage. I began searching for Kleenex, which I never carry (not sure what I was thinking) and instead settled on napkins from the table. 

When Kathy arrived, Leah Ann introduced us. She then told Kathy that I had written a post about her family that she wanted her to read… 

I can't remember Leah Ann’s words exactly, but the gist of what she so sweetly told her friend is this, "I know that you have many people supporting you through this time. But I want you to understand that there are people out there you've never met who support you and send healing thoughts your way."

Kathy looked a little like I felt, unsure. Our eyes met, and we likely both decided to place our faith in God and Leah Ann that this would be a positive experience. In the following moments as she read my post, the feelings between the four of us were palpable. 

When Kathy finished reading, she stood up, as did I. We shared a long hug and cried together like we'd known each other for years. But is that really a stretch if I have children of my own… a son of my own? No, it isn't, and it wasn't. Leah Ann and her brother were swiping the tears as well.

When our torrent of grief subsided, we sat back down and began to talk. Kathy confided that it had been a tough morning for her. She trusted us enough to share her struggles, an honor and a gift to the three of us. We spoke of unthinkable sorrows, but then we talked about Colton's flying lessons and the fact that she thought she might like to pick up where he left off. The experience undeniably changed me, in a good way.

I barely arrived at my car before the avalanche of tears began to fall. Driving home, I was literally gasping for breath between my sobs. I should have pulled over, but we live in a rural area, and there weren't many cars on the road that morning. I spent the remainder of that day and many since contemplating life, loss, and the only real healing power- human connection.

My book signing occurred the following week. Kathy was sitting to my left, thanks to her dear friend Leah Ann who ensured she would attend. I had many favorite parts of that evening, but having Kathy beside me ranked up there.

I’ll be back next week—

Train-When I look to the sky

'Cause when I look to the sky something tells me you're here with me
And you make everything alright
And when I feel like I'm lost something tells me you're here with me
And I can always find my way when you are here

Part 3 next week.