Walking With Sarah

Exactly one week has passed since a friend opted to end her life with a bullet. The shock is beginning to wear off, and for all but her family and closest friends, the ripples Sarah caused in our little pond slowly subside and life goes back to normal. The facts of it linger in conversation, but I feel it's time to stash them in that never-opened brain file marked "Keep Out." But just having that thought saddens me; is that all she gets--a week of grief and then it's back to business?

Determined to shake it, I go out for a walk. It's a beautiful day here, almost perfect, sunny and breezy, not too hot but certainly not too cool. Early morning, and lots of people are out running, biking, walking. I flash on Sarah, thinking if she had just waited, that bad feeling surely would have passed. She could be out walking with me this morning! Even the Mainers, naturally reticent and somewhat unfriendly, smile and say "hi" and "good morning" as they pass by. Surely that would have cheered her up. And me too, since walking alone a week after someone you know dies is an opportunity for uninterrupted melancholy, and Sarah was always cheerful and smiling whenever I saw her.

Behind me are footsteps that get closer quickly, which is not surprising since I have what they would call in the Old West a "bum hip." As the cheerful young woman comes up beside me we exchange pleasantries. I warn her of the dangers of running daily for 20 years. She nods in agreement and says she's mostly a walker. That opens the door to further conversation.  She's one of five siblings; there were six, but a house fire in childhood killed her 8-year-old sister. Now she's a new mom--just three weeks ago her first child, Cecilia, was born. I share some of my own experiences, both good and bad. We bond. Turns out she is a near neighbor, and we promise to meet again and walk, and next time she'll bring the baby. "By the way," she says as she's leaving, "I'm Sarah."