The Sandbar

Several years ago I read or heard about an analogy of life that has stuck with me. It is certainly not original with me, but I don't know who gets the credit. Basically the analogy is that life is a like a river with a long series of sandbars. We each occupy our specific spot on our sandbar in our section of the river. Those who have lived before us are upstream and those who have come along after us are downstream. If we look downstream we see that the river is calmer and wider and filled with people. Some are our kids and grandkids. Some belong to others, but the stream is crowded and the water is slow and the footing seems sure. Upstream we can see that the water is moving swiftly, that the footing is treacherous, and the crowd has thinned and thinning considerably. We look around us on our sandbar, at our contemporaries and realize that while our footing is not quite as sure as it once was, we are still firmly set and can handle the ebb and flow of the river.

Occasionally we see someone whisk by that we knew. If they are parents or grandparents we mourn the fact that at last they lost their footing and slipped from a sandbar far ahead. But we hear the roar of the rapids ahead and realize our fate will mirror theirs.

Rarely we glance back and see the ones downstream lose their footing, by accident, or not having a firm spot to begin with, sometimes knocked off balance by another. We are stunned that they are gone so soon.It always comes as an overwhelming loss because it is so unexpected.

This past week a man that I had been friends with had passed away. He occupied my sandbar at least for a time. My bride and I had vacationed with he and his bride. Our sons were best of friends from 1st grade through about 9th grade. We shared our families, we laughed, there were spats, and we all seemed pretty secure in our footing. He was born with a congenital heart defect, but defied the odds and lived to adulthood, then on into middle age. He was not perfect, but none of us are. He struggled with with a lot of issues, but always seemed confident in his spiritual walk. We lost track after he and his wife divorced. His wife wanted out. When I tried to mediate, the effort was rejected along with the relationship of the two couples. This is often the fate of the mediator. We are viewed as part of the entire traumatic event and are part of the "closed door." You have to understand this as a mediator.

So the river shifted and he lost his footing. It caused me pause to glance around and realize that the sandbar is a little less crowded. There was not overwhelming remorse, but a sort of unfocused regret. We had lost touch, more of his doing than mine, but I could have pushed a little more. This event will become moire common as time goes on. It is a wonder to me that we humans are the only creature that has knowledge of their own demise, yet we are the only creature that functions from an attitude of hope. We know we will ultimately lose our footing in the river, but we live looking ahead, with joy and hope and anticipation. It is this dichotomy that sends me each day into a time of reflection and wonder.

Godspeed, Tommy and good traveling into the great uncounting.

Don