I went for a nice walk along the Minnehaha Creek with my mom recently. Walks are pleasant for her despite her dementia because each moment is embedded in a context. She does not become restless about where she is supposed to be or what she is supposed to be doing, which is a common anxiety for her lately.
Fall colors are at their peak around here. Along the creek and elsewhere bright yellow tends to dominate because of the ash trees. Once you recognize their distinctive gnarly bark, you see ashes everywhere. Then they become easy to overlook.
I overlooked something important recently when a coworker suddenly quit. She gave her two weeks notice and all, but it was jarring to realize someone I spent thirty hours a week with would simply not be around anymore.
My nerves strike somewhat predictably, whenever there is a degree of anticipation involved. When the time came to hug and say goodbye, my heart was pounding. She and I shared a bond, but I never told her she was important to me, and I didn’t make enough of an effort to learn about her life.
Maybe after an event like that I can finally start learning the lessons of the immediate past: that every day is an opportunity to connect; that there is no comfortable future where you have all the time you need to tend to true relationships; that the time to be there for others is now.
Those ash trees are threatened by the emerald ash borer. A decade hence, 90% of them may be wiped out. Not just the thick yellow canopies, but the crunchy brown leaves under your feet, and the curious bunches of long flat seeds, and the unmistakable bark, could be gone.
All those parts of the tree that you can currently see and touch any time you want could be just a figment and a memory. This provides all the more reason to take that walk along the creek with a loved one whenever you can.
pseudoisaac 