Coffee at Dawn

The sadness I feel at parting is not grief, but loneliness. Where a chain of lives connected us to ourselves, only a strand remains. Aging is the fraying of that strand. A few months ago the loss of Laverne the cat, a few weeks ago, the loss of a friend’s father, last week the loss of a friend and then the loss of hope for the future. I feel the pulling on that strand.  My circle of people perhaps didn’t know and I didn’t realize that they were filling me with messages great and small. Even our long silences reassured us. My contact with them taught me, soothed me and helped me through complicated times of indecision.  To my friends who have lost their people, close and far, perhaps we should consider their passing as right and just. They gave us messages of love and support and moved on. We’ve received the gift of their experience, maturity, and life lessons. And hope really does “spring eternal.”  I have to work hard at despair. To drive myself ever downward toward the blackness takes hard work. But hope does not. I wake each morning perched on the edge of a waterfall of despair and hope my toaster works, hope my commute is easy, and hope my day will be productive. Although I am losing my friends and my naivete at an alarming rate, I am buoyed by hope. I hope that I am giving good messages to those I will leave behind soon enough. I hope that I have shown them how to hope. Today I hope my coffee will be hot and good and my writing above average.