There Will Be A Map
The year winds down. Only a few weeks, a handful of days, left. I’m specifically not counting, but this year’s Tracks class is keeping count in a way that others haven’t. “Is this the last day I play the rhythm,” one asks.
I force myself to think. Ada answers, though. She seems better equipped to think of the bittersweet in the beginning/endings, thankfully.
We’ve, as a group, been through a lot. Two of the children moved away during the school year. Four of us had beloved pets die, too soon. In the case of the children, these dogs and a cat were like siblings, a constant in their families, all dear. My father died this year and the gut punches, the suddenness of it all and the constant struggle against covid waves, is only carried because we carry it together, the children and their parents.
Every time one of us felt lost, there was someone to find us and lift us up.
“Lesley, listen,” he leaned in close to tell me something, so I mirrored his action and leaned in too, “When Mitzi went over the rainbow bridge, Duncan was waiting for her.”
His parents read one of the Rainbow Bridge books, weeks ago when Mitzi their dog died, but here it was sitting and dreaming inside his head. Duncan is my dog who died all the way back in December. Here is what I know. This child, almost five, looked at me at this moment, this time where I could see an ending which I didn’t want to happen and he decided to share this important information that I most certainly needed.
Title: My Dog Mitzi
He continued, “There is so much grass for them to run on, everywhere is tall grass. They never run out of frisbees. And Lesley. All of the people you love will be there waiting for you! Your dad will be there and Duncan too. And you will get to be however old you want to be.”
“I want to be ten,” I said.
“Yes, you will be ten and your dad will be young also and Duncan and all your cats and dogs will be there and other people too.”
“I was hoping that I could be like a cat on a warm spot on a red rug.”
“That rug will be there, too. And the sun. And you know what?”
“No, what?”
“The bridge is always, always there. It just comes when you need it and you can walk right on it. And when people you love cross that bridge YOU will be there and you will be ten years old all the time.”
“But how will people know me if they didn’t know me when I was ten years old?”
“They will always know you.”
Look. I really didn’t think I would make it through much of this year. It was hard for me and so very hard on the families of young children, but somehow, somehow, we pulled through, sprinkling rainbow stories as we went.
How did we get here? It is not through a trail of sadness. Quite the opposite. What we have found is a group of people so happy to be together, with a freedom in knowing we can share both the hard times and the good.
The day after this heartfelt conversation, we took the children back to Long Branch.
We hadn’t been along that creek since the Fall. We’ll make forays in that direction, past the Ghost Eye Tree and Watson’s Yard to leave little gifts at both stops, we look for onion grass to eat and berries to collect along the sidewalks, but not to the creek.
The last time we went, the bridge across had been dismantled and we didn’t know that “fun” fact until we looped around on the muddy path to find it gone. I put “fun” in quotation marks because “fun” is in the eye, hands, and legs of the beholder/climber.
No rainbow bridge back then, only rain-drenched, slippery boulders and rocks and a ticking clock telling us it was almost Budgie time (ten minutes to cross and get back up the hill to the waiting grown-ups for dismissal). It was another day of tears and joy as we talked the children through crossing. We know it was early in the year because the tears told us that so many of the children were still developing their bouldering skills and their assessment of risk said, “Noooooooo.” While others scurried right across and back again, worrying those still navigating. In the end, all of us got across and back to school, sure enough.
On this day though, the sun was shining, it was gorgeous. We know that revisiting places that were especially hard to navigate is something we all must do. We hadn’t planned on this though — the new bridge during all those missed months was built! Joy!
One child shouted to her sister, “Come on, face your fear. You can do it!” As she encouraged her sister to climb across the rocks instead of the new bridge.
“I’m doing it one more time!”
“Let’s try over this way!”
“We can do this better without shoes!”
“Try this rock. Then that one! You can do it!”
Listen, without hardship how would we measure success? Without loss, how do we know what to hold dear? How would we know who and what waits for us on the other side of the rainbow bridge without the vision of an almost five-year old?
Fare thee well, Tracks 2022. I hope you know how much room you have in my heart and in my eyes.
In case you need it, this is a map across the Rainbow Bridge.
