April 10, 2020

Living on Love

• By John F. Chisholm •

October 9, 2013 – Kim and Corey moved into their cabin last night.  It’s tiny, 12×20 feet.  There’re aren’t any furnishings.  No electricity.  No amenities.  There’s a woodstove slated for one corner. The thimble is installed but the stove isn’t there yet.  No matter.  The cabin is clean, neat and weather tight.  They’re thrilled.  No, more than that.  They’re effervescent about the entire arrangement.  They look at each other and grin with delight.

I look at them and shake my head.  I remember those days.

Somewhere, in between raising my own children (Kim, for one example), paying off the mortgage and making our own home comfortable ― with amenities and all those other things they’re missing with such ease ― I lost the ability to live on love alone.  I gaze at their Eden, nestled amongst the pines, hidden from the road and the prying eyes of casual by-passers and wonder just what happened.

I’m not jealous.  I’m filled with angst.  Looking within, I see that my feelings aren’t reserved for me.

I don’t want my daughter or her lover to lose the idealism making their life, not easy, but filled with purpose.  How is it that in satisfying our goals we so often lose the very thing that made doing so possible?

Is age to blame?  Reality? Money? Health?  I can’t say.  I’m only positive that the experience providing the answers shouldn’t be allowed to leach away the seasoning that makes the meal palatable in the first place.

Light filters through the trees, surrounding the cabin.  It’s the low-angle, low-humidity, low-heat sunshine of fall.

That’s for me.

Inside with Kim and Corey it’s spring, bright, warm and cozy.

I nod to the cabin before turning for home.  I wish them well with all my heart, raising my arm in benediction.  “Love.  Never be without.”