Lessons on the River:

The narrow sculling boats move with ease across the lake. Seemingly without effort they float with ballerina-like precision. Piercing through the morning mist, they come into view and just as quickly they move beyond my sight, swallowed whole as they disappear back into the fog. An elegant dance of lines and form, rowing partners the rower with the river transforming both into one. I have watched this dance from water's edge hundreds of times and with each viewing I stand witness to choreography at its finest.
Through the years I studied every photograph that I could find of rowers gliding across lakes, their images mirrored against the water. Digging through rowing news, journals and rowing association articles I hoped that I could put myself in the mind of a rower by day dreaming the knowledge into my head. Perhaps I could learn to row like a sponge soaking up all the skills without even getting into the water.  I researched what shells, oars and gloves would cost and found most of the places where I could learn the sport without having to leave the United States. 
This intense investigation had gone on for a long while. Not having the time and usually without the money, I never was able to put the plans in motion to take the lessons I desired. Other priorities always found their way to the top of my "to do" list. As a busy single parent of one my dance card was always full. 
Yet, I dreamed of the water - cascading waves moving onto the shore, boats in the horizon, and sunset orange balls of light reflected against the ocean. I craved water. I even wished for water - hoping that a lotto ticket could bring me a home with a view of any body of water. Pure liquid beauty, I would be willing to settle for a backyard pond.
Water has always comforted me. Healing me too by drawing the hurt out and by helping me see a world that is larger than my pain. Like a worn-in pair of shoes, water fits around me, holding me - a fluid hug.

At Water's Edge

After my son died, I felt drawn to the water more than ever. Desiring walks on the beach, craving underwater adventure and on water experiences, water pulled at me. Any view with a body of water was a place that I wanted to be standing in. This deep blue liquid beckoned me. I never felt so fixated. As if I had been hypnotized, I found myself taking steps into the wet and special world of rivers, lakes and oceans whenever I could. 
Finally coming into my own understanding of the connection, I now realize that water represents comfort for me. The motion of a boat can soothe me like a rocking chair. There is something Zen about being on the water. I am unable to focus on anything but the movement and flow of it. My mind gets a much-needed rest from the emotional chaos of grief. Water brings stillness at a time when I am unable to create my own from within.
How appropriate it is that I keep finding myself now either near, surrounded or in the water.