The alerts that pop up on my phone serve as a reminder of a life that has changed. A notification appeared for an event that would not occur. The notice created a wistful feeling that I was missing something, but at the same time it was an equally strong reminder of gratefulness for my current life. It is a weird balancing dance we are experiencing.

 

So many people are experiencing loss at such a level we can’t comprehend. High school seniors are missing those last warm days of friendships, graduation and maybe a cold beer in the woods with their friends. Weddings are on hold, and babies are born without that welcome nuzzle from adoring grandparents. But there are losses far more permanent and it is those that we mourn collectively.

 

My calendar was telling me it was a few days until the lecture on Monet at The Art Institute of Chicago. I would have looked at the water in the paintings and the million shades of green that Monet employed. The reflection of light and life in the water would have sent me over the moon with a longing to hear those lily pads gently scrape the sides of my kayak and watch my paddle pull up the occasional stem and fling it across the bow of my boat.

 

But rather than the imaginary lily pad experience I’ve been blessed to watch in person those green platters as they unfurl from their underwater sleep, where they have been curled up and waiting. We typically only see them when they have fully bloomed and the bay is thick with growth and difficult to paddle. But we came up north early, and so I am having my own Monet experience from the low vantage point of a kayak.

 

I’m thankful for this time and for so many other things I know I take for granted. My little story bears no to resemblance to the loss and longing that so many other people are having right now, and for them I send up a prayer.