This week was a lot. Maybe it was for you, too. Despite what social media encourages us to share (and like) - the perfect, well-lit, happy-go-lucky moments - life isn’t a well-curated, polished feed. It’s messy and hard and will, at times, knock you flat on your ass when you least expect it. And if you’re paying attention, these moments can lead to more appreciation and gratitude for the small flashes of beauty we’re offered every day and may even help you see them with more clarity.
Earlier this week, driving through Milton on Route 60, I saw a couple sitting on the tailgate of their truck and my mind immediately went to the picture I made of Cody and Emily in the summer of 2012. At the next intersection, I turned around and headed back to ask if I could make their picture.
I introduced myself to James and Cathie and began telling them about the picture of Cody and Emily. Her face lit up and she told me that I’d made her day by asking to make their picture. We chatted for a few minutes, exchanged contact information, and I continued making my way home.
A few minutes down the road, something caught my eye on the freshly painted yellow center line. Again, I turned around and headed back the opposite direction. I put my flashers on, opened the door of my truck, and looked down at a small bunny seemingly frozen in terror in the middle of the road. It had trauma to its left eye, likely caused by a vehicle. I grabbed an old t-shirt from my truck, wrapped the bunny up on the tailgate, and drove home with it on my lap. Its breathing was shallow and a couple of times I thought it slipped away.
Once I got home, my wife began calling wildlife rehabilitation groups, but couldn’t get through to anyone. I put it in a milk crate along with a hot water bottle and left it in a dark, quiet place so it wouldn’t be stressed. According to the internet, wild bunnies will often die from stress in captivity. A few hours later, I checked on it and, to my surprise, it was alert and moving around. We decided to release it in our garden thinking 1) it would be somewhat secure because of the electric fence, yet easy to get out and 2) that after the day it had, it deserved as many vegetables as it wanted.
I checked the next morning and it was gone. I’d like to believe it’s thriving in our woods now and thinking about how to get back into the garden.
Later in the week, my organization had the second of two staff retreats where we continued to do deep work on our strategic planning process. This is the kind of work that, while rewarding, can be exhausting and requires you to leave everything on the table. While out with some colleagues after day one, we came across a dog that had been (likely) dumped on an old surface mine site. Given the hour and the rural space, there was no nearby shelter to take him to and the best I could do was leave him some water.
I went back later that night with some hamburgers and sat on my tailgate under the near full moon, whistled for him and waited. Nothing. I drove around for several minutes thinking I might catch a glimpse of his narrow black and white frame, but didn’t see him again.
Driving back to the conference center, windows down, radio off, I was starting to spiral. I was angry at the person who dumped the dog. Angry that I couldn’t do more. Angry at the cruelty in the world. Angry at the systematic starvation of tens of thousands of people in Gaza. So much anger.
Back in my room, I called my wife, who with the patience of Job, was able to give me space to be angry while at the same time tender enough to signal that she needed to know my anger wasn’t directed at her. After our call, it occurred to me that it was the eve of my granddaughter’s passing six years ago.
I’m grateful for the space to reflect on this week and to be able to identify that so much of my anger is rooted in grief. We carry grief in so many different ways, but we all carry it. And I’m grateful for the moments of joy this week offered especially on the tailgate of a truck at a drive-in.
- Roger
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Peace be with you Roger…stay your walk .Love to you both🫶🫶
Really beautiful essay, Roger. Thank you!