Learning Together

Together in this unsought community,
We listen to each other’s stories, nodding,
Understanding, remembering our own.

As a facilitator, I mostly just listen
And appreciate how everyone supports
And welcomes one another.

Today I share that I sometimes worry I have settled on
A small version of his life, as if his years exploring
Were always heading towards an inevitable ending.

Later in the meeting, a woman looks at me
And says, “I remember something you said
A few months ago:” (and she looks upwards)

“That our loved-ones are all here
Looking down on us,
Connecting with one another.”

I remember that hopeful insight now:
How we who remain, feeling newly alone,
Have a congregation watching over us.

After the meeting, debriefing in the hallway,
The person who remembered my wistful hope
Comes back, holding a wallet she found outside.

I knew my pocket was empty when I sat down
But thought I’d left it at home when I changed my jeans.
Never having missed it, I take it—grateful but confused.

Feeling the strangeness of life anew,
I realize why I keep coming to these meetings.
I need to remember the life we shared.

I need to remember, through the fresh remembrance of others,
That although he is gone, I can still celebrate his life in memory
And not get pulled down like a life raft with a sinking ship.