CHASING DOWN THE MUSE: Nature’s abundance after many losses

I was lost in reverie as I walked the sands of Crystal Cove on a recent morning. There was much on my mind and this long walk was designed to bring clarity as well as renewed energy for the day ahead.

Writing in my journal earlier, I had set in motion the idea that the day would be filled with abundance of beauty and its counterpart — beauty of abundance. Vague enough and yet purposeful, too. There had been too much loss touching my life the past couple of months, and it seemed important to refocus.

Just as things began to rev up for the summer’s Sawdust Art Festival, we had gotten the news that the eldest son of our good friends, Jim and Judy Hogan, was battling metastasized cancer. We all focused our hopes and prayers on the aggressive program of chemotherapy and radiation he was to undertake. Booth building and art production continued forward. We stayed in touch on the progress of Brian’s treatment, which seemed to be moving forward well.

The news that Sawdust friend, Valerie Ellis, had lost her long battle with lung cancer was tough to take. What a fighter, though. And what a wonderful support team of family and friends she had throughout. The celebration of her life that took place in mid-June was certainly just that and uplifting even in the face of her passing.

The unexpected and sudden death of friend and client, Katie, followed too close. I would miss her. And do. Then news came that “Father Bob” Cornelison, known to me as a kind and caring and very “real” human being, had passed away. Too much. Too much. Make it stop. Heart and mind cried out for no more.

It was not to be. On July 6, Brian Hogan lost his brief, brave battle with the cancer that was to take his young life. Throughout, he and his family and friends faced each day with exemplary courage and good cheer, even as the realities became a barrage of tough news.

On this day as my feet took me on a journey across the sand, I sought not answers, but a way to move forward. Not wanting to forget, but to honor in some way. Wanting to hold a place for the sorrow and yet not lose sight of the abundance and beauty that still exists all around. Adrift in these thoughts, I walked on.

Something caused me to pull up from my thoughts, and I turned to look at the surf line to my left. I was stopped in my tracks.

There, in the foamy surf, were four — yes, four — sea lions. Walking sideways for a few paces, then, turning my head to keep an eye on them, I continued on. The sea lions did too. A flurry of wings sounded to my right. Twenty or so whimbrels pass in front of me. As my eyes follow, I spot a beautiful soft-turquoise piece of perfect beach glass and reach to pick it up. It is smooth and feels comfortable and comforting in my hand as I stroke it.

Shaken now from thoughts of loss by these small moments, I move on. In my heart I know these friends are free of pain and at peace. I am happy for this. Taken from us what can only seem too soon, we are left with both the loss and beautiful memories of these loved ones. I am reminded of the words of John Travolta’s character George O’Malley in the film, “Phenomenon”: “Everything is on its way to somewhere…. Everything.” And, I think to myself, everyone as well.

Life is not static. We must live to our fullest in whatever time we are given. We can thus honor those who have gone before.

We will miss you Brian, Valerie, Katie, Father Bob, Patti’s dad, Bill, Suzette’s beloved grandmother and so many others. But we will not forget all you’ve given us and the blessings of your lives.

CHERRIL DOTY is an artist, writer, and creative coach exploring and enjoying the many mysteries of life in the moment. She can be reached by e-mail at [email protected] or by phone at (949) 251-3883