Let’s See How We Go

What’s a time you followed your gut and it turned out to be exactly right?

Pen y Fan

It was the end of our 37th wedding anniversary holiday when my wife  and I stopped at the Pont-ar-Daf car park at the foot of Pen y Fan in the Brecon Beacons for a rest after a long drive. We decided to stretch our legs a little with a stroll up the path leading to the summit. I had reached the top with a friend a few weeks earlier but my wife had never attempted it.

After a short walk, I asked my wife, who suffered from mild asthma, if she wanted to go back to the car. She asked me what the view was like from the ridge that we could see. I said it’s worth seeing and she said, “Let’s see how we go.”

We walked on steadily, one foot in front of the other, got to the ridge and, indeed, the view was worth the effort. I asked if she was ready to go back to the car and she asked which peak was Pen y Fan. When I pointed it out she said, “Let’s see how we go.”

We kept waking and reached the summit, with its view across the whole of South and Mid Wales just as everyone else was leaving. We were left alone at the top for about ten minutes. It was probably the most emotional experience of our lives together.

We took the required photos and just sat there, alone together, tears in our eyes from the waves of emotions. Getting to the top at the end of an anniversary holiday was well worth the effort. It was a shared experience that drew us even closer together than we had ever been before. And all because of her gut feeling, “Let’s see how we go.” It was the first and only time we ascended Pen y Fan despite living in its shadow for over 40 years together.

The following year, there was upheaval in the family. But that shared experience had given us the strength to keep going and just “see how we go,” one foot in front of the other, in the face of trials.

I rarely directly share personal experiences, but this one has kept me going despite everything that life has thrown at us.

Just over five years later, my wife’s asthma turned out to be lung cancer, and she passed away a few months before what would have been our 43rd anniversary. But that shared experience has kept me going, still dealing with the upheaval in the family, still putting one foot in front of the other, still telling myself, “Let’s see how we go.”

The Box

Couple Walking on Porthcawl Beach

Memories and feelings
All wrapped up in cotton wool
And bubble wrap;
Gently placed inside the box
With polystyrene pieces
And packs of desiccant;
Sealed and marked,
“Do not destroy,”
And archived.

For now, I have no need
Of memories or feelings;
Now that you’ve gone
And left me all alone
To face the bleakness of a future
Filled with sadness,
Filled with tears,
Filled with grief,
And uncertainty

Maybe, some day,
Our great grandchildren
Will look inside
To marvel at the love we shared.
“How quaint that they should be
Together, Oh so long!”
And give us pride of place
Upon their shelves
And mantels.

Or maybe you and I
Will reunite
To open up the box
And let the memories rekindle
The love that bound us
Together, forever;
To set the feelings free
To flood our hearts
And souls.

‘These three remain:
Faith, hope, and love;’
Anchors for this lonely soul
To which I cling with calloused hands
That long to feel
The softness of your cheeks.
Faith, hope, and love
That soon we’ll reunite
In Paradise.

If on a sunny summer’s day

Summer Garden

If on a sunny summer’s day

I walked along a rambling way

Through trees and fields of new mown hay

What profit would it bring me?

 

Or if in autumn I did ride

Upon a boat washed by the tide

To find a place where I could hide

What pleasure would it give me?

 

Perhaps in winter I could run

And slide with children having fun

Or throw a snowball at someone

What lessons would it teach me?

 

If in the spring I watched the trees

Or saw the way a sparrow sees

The spiders and the humming bees

What happiness would greet me?

 

In summer, autumn, winter, spring

Whatever weather they would bring

If I could give to you a ring

What wond’rous love would fill me.

Lost

Lost is an attempt at a dialogue. It’s the dialogue we need to have with ourselves – regularly.

“I’m lost.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I am.”

“How can you say that?”

“Because I don’t know where I am.”

“You’re here!”

“But where’s here?”

“Why does it matter? Where do you want to be?”

“That’s the point. I don’t know where here is; and I don’t know where I . . . Well, actually, I do know where I want to be, and I’m not there.”

“How do you know?”

“I don’t. That’s what’s so confusing. I’m not sure I can really explain it.

“You see, I look around and I’m in a jungle between lots of trees with a dense fog, all around. There’s no clear path out. I can’t even work out how I got here. Yet I’m also not sure that I don’t want to be here. I mean, it could be said that I’m here by choice, couldn’t it. So, if I’m here by choice, I probably want to be here. But why would I want to be here?”

“Why do you think you want to be here?”

“I don’t know. Am I hiding from something? Or someone? Who? I feel like I’m hiding from . . . myself! Why would I do that? Am I trying to deceive myself? Why? There’s something I need to do and . . . and I’m afraid to do it; somewhere I have to go, but I’m afraid to go there.”

“Where do you have to go? And what do you have to do?”

“I have no idea.

“Well, actually, that’s not quite true. I have to go inside and search.”

“Inside? Inside what?”

“Not what? Who? I have to go inside myself. And that’s scary.”

“Not many people can do that.”

“Tell me something I don’t know. Too many people go off to ‘find themselves’ and never come back. No wonder it’s scary.

“Yet, really, I know where I am. I’m here; wherever here is. I’m not really lost. I know where I am; I’m here. I just don’t know where here is.”

“If you did know where ‘here’ is, what would you do with that information? After all, you said there are no visible paths. So it would not matter which direction you go in.”

“True. But at least . . . at least if I’m moving, it would be easier to turn.”

“Interesting.”

“And I’ll never find my way unless I can see where I’m headed for.

“I suppose the real question is where I want to be headed for. If I’m searching for myself, and I know I’m here, then haven’t I already found myself? Haven’t I already reached my destination?

“No. That’s not quite true. The idea of a destination suggests that the journey will end. Yet the journey never ends, does it. Life goes on and the journey doesn’t end. After all, once we reach our destination we look around for somewhere else to go. The journey never ends. And, since I know that I’m here, this is just a stopping off point on my journey.

“So why can I not see which way to go? Because I have no clear direction? Where do I want to be? No. Why do I want to be here?”

“Good question. Why do you want to be here?”

“Because I need a rest. I need some time without the demands of other people tugging at my resources. Yet I also don’t want to ignore the needs of those who matter to me. That’s why I’m afraid to search for myself – I don’t want to lose those I care about.”

“And yet you know where you are.”

“So I don’t need to search! I’m here.

“And the mist is clearing. Mist? Fog? What’s the difference? It’s clearing. There is always a path between the trees. It may not be a well-worn path, but it’s still a path. It’s a path I have to make for myself. It’s my life; my journey; my path.”

“So what does that mean?”

“It means I know where I am. And I know where I’m going.

“I’m here, and I’m going to keep going. I’m simply going to walk between two trees and keep going.

“That’s strange.”

“What is?”

“Where did that path come from? Did I just make that path? Yes. It’s my path.”

“Where does it lead?”

“Wherever I want it to lead. I am in control of my life. I can choose to stay here or I can choose to move on. It’s my choice.”

“And what have you chosen?”

“To move on.”

“Where to?”

“Wherever my journey takes me . . . No . . . Wherever I want to go. And I want to go and look after those I care about; which includes myself. After all, I’m actually in a clearing between trees.

“Now, look between those two trees. What do you see?”

“It’s not about what I see. It’s about what you see. But I see a path.”

“Of course you do. It may not be much of a path, but it’s my path. It’s my way forward. Thanks for listening.

“So. Are you coming?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Not really.”

As the Seasons Change

Pen y Fan

She looks just the same.
Or do I imagine it?
Are we getting old?

Many years have passed.
Still surprising each other,
Ev’ry now and then.

Love that once was new,
Strengthened through each day and year,
Knows each other’s thoughts.

Eyesight may grow dim,
Hearing faded more each day.
Still a sense of awe.

Radiant is her smile,
Though the years have taken toll
On her aching limbs.

What, then, have I done
To deserve such blessed joy?
Worthy of her care?

Flame of love grows strong.
Waters cannot put it out.
She and I still here.

Though they said we’d fail;
Though we struggled now and then;
Still our thoughts are one.

As the years go by,
Love will guide our troubled lives,
As the seasons change.