I See You

I stood crying at the edge of the Kennebec River. For weeks I’d been stockpiling stress like a squirrel with acorns: waging war against the long-term care system, trying to be the shoulder to many, losing a loved one to ignorant beliefs. By Tuesday I was bedridden. By Friday I could look at a screen again. Not for very long though.

B and I are in Bath, ME celebrating 21 years of marriage. Me, a digestive pile of goo and him, a twitching ball of burnout. We just needed time alone, time to recharge, time to just be.

So here’s me, standing in the crisp air of a Maine fall morning, poking about the sweetest farmer’s market known to man, proud to be standing upright, when a man turned to me. He was in his early 70’s, dressed in earth tones and warm layers. His blue eyes lit up as he saw me.

“Hey! It’s you!” he said, smile expanding. “Wow! I’m so glad to see you!”

I had never seen this man before in my life.

“Hi!” I smiled back. “I’m glad to see you too!” I watched his face for the realization he had been mistaken, for embarrassment and confusion. Instead he leaned over and hugged me.

“It’s just so good to see you,” he said. “I’ve been up in county.”

I knew what was happening. “What were you doing there?” I said.

“The potato harvest,” he replied. “Oh it wasn’t very good this year. Too much rain. Not like here. Why do you think that is? Why is there so much rain?”

I didn’t need to know this man. He didn’t need to know me. Not really. He needed to run into someone important to him, who was happy to see him, and wanted to spend time chatting. So I did. I learned he was boiling the rutabaga he had just bought. And that he was going to do chores that day. When we said goodbye, he hugged me again and kissed me on the cheek. He told me that he was so happy he had run into me. And I was too.

I walked away from the market to the water and cried. I cried for my Dad and I cried for that man. I screamed in my head “What the fuck is happening?” at the Universe. Then I looked down and found a tiny mushroom and felt a wee bit better. An hour later a bee turned up on my sweater and hung out for a while. I thanked her, the mushroom and the river for their love.

B. thinks this was The Universe’s way of sending me love, of telling me Dad is ok, of reminding me to trust that things are working out, that bigger forces are at work. I know he’s right. I can feel that he is right. But seriously what the fuck.