Tomorrow the eighth graders at Lincoln Park Middle School will have a science exam on the water cycle. I sit in on third period science and I’ve learned a great deal about water over the last few weeks. For example, did you know that our water, all the water that ever was, is over 3 billion years old. The sun helps us to keep on recycling all our water through evaporation, condensation (a fancy word for clouds) and precipitation.
The water cycle is a miraculous thing really. I thought about this as we walked very early these last few mornings on the snowy trails along Lake Superior. Fine snow floated down on us as we made our way. It’s so much quieter outside with the blanket of snow on the trees and ground. In our pre-dawn walks, only a couple of people had made footprints ahead of us in the snowpack. We were stepping in snow over 3 billion years old and it was beautiful.
The only sound as we walked along the shore were the waves from Lake Superior. The water was dark with ripples from the wind. Our sailboat has been buttoned up for the winter, but I couldn’t help but think of our boat partner Denise whose birthday it had just been on November 13th.
Denise always liked to be the captain when we sailed. We didn’t mind when she took the helm, except maybe when docking. She would bring the boat in a little hot. Sailing is such a good metaphor for life. The wind and water don’t always take you exactly where you want to go, so you learn to adjust your sails.
Denise was good at this. Her diagnosis of metastatic breast cancer just weeks after retirement wasn’t part of the plan, but she adjusted her sails. She continued to do justice, love kindness with fearless passion and immense gratitude.
Denise docked her “life” boat hot too. Dr. Cross, her oncologist called her the afternoon I was with her to plan her memorial celebration. She took the call with her family and me listening in. She thanked him for all he had done for her over the last five years of her life. Years, as she said, filled with three weddings and six grandchildren. “Not too shabby”, she said. And then just before hanging up she said, “Well, I guess this is goodbye.”
Goodbye. The word goodbye comes from “God be with you.” Like the water cycle we trust that somehow there is more beyond evaporation. In these early days of winter I find myself returning to the words of Mary Oliver in her poem, In Blackwater Woods,
To live in this world you must be able to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold it against your bones knowing your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go.
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