Recently, on a very chilly winter morning, I was walking through the Cornwall Park. Filled with Western Red Cedar, Hemlock and Douglas Fir trees, Cornwall is a gorgeous walking place any time of year. Well, on the far side of the park, it started to rain, and rain and rain and rain (yes, this is Bellingham), and then it started to sleet – frozen, icy rain, falling like daggers on my hair. (I did not yet mention that I didn’t have a hat on – just a fleece headband – it wasn’t raining when I left home…). Anyway, my hair and head were getting drenched, pelted. I tried to cover up my head with my glove, with two goves, and the rain slid off my gloves and into my face and eyes.
I stopped for a respite under a large cedar. It’s branches held the rain awhile so I could rest, catch my breath. It was one of those moments that I was absolutely sheltered. I looked down, and the ground beneath my feet was dry, yet just outside the reaches of the tree branches, it was pouring and sleeting. But here, a gorgeous 200 year old cedar held the space for me, to rest, to catch my breath, to wait for the storm to pass.
It reminded me of our Mending Babyloss Support Group, which I hope will always be the cedar tree, holding space during the storm, for travelers on a grief journey to stop, rest, seek out, catch their breath.