
“Have you seen how fast that beaver dam is growing?”, he said.
I stopped walking along the path by the creek to look in the direction the man had pointed out.
When I said I hadn’t noticed the dam before, he told me it had only been there for two weeks.
“Every day it’s bigger,” he said.
Water flowing downstream was starting to back up. I wondered how long it would be before it either diverted to and flooded another low lying area, or breached the dam. It couldn’t keep backing up without some sort of release.
This thought stayed with me as I continued my walk. The analogy to my grief journey was not lost on me.
People ask me how I’m doing and I paste on a smile and say, “fine.” I hold back my tears.
I’m driving and something on the radio triggers a memory. I fight back my tears as they aren’t compatible with driving safely.
I’m talking with a family member and my eyes well up. I do my best not to cry. They are dealing with their own grief and don’t need mine compounding it.
All the while, my grief is suppressed. I tell myself that tears are a sign of weakness, something I need to apologize for. They make others feel uncomfortable, so I don’t release them. Even the overflows I can’t stop are carefully controlled.
The pressure builds. The tears will not be denied. Alone in my room, I feel the dam being breached. My carefully structured composure collapses, bringing a flood of waterworks. I give in and let it run its course.
Afterwards, I realize how much better I feel. The pressure that had been building in me has been released. I discover that tears are not a sign of weakness. They are a language of their own, expressing feelings I have no words for. They are essential to my healing.











When I first sat down to write this, a hurricane was crossing the Caribbean Sea and heading for Mexico. It was expected to hit the Yucatan state in a few days. There was a chance it would miss the area our friends lived in, but as we know, sometimes storms change direction.
Something as simple as a walk in different surroundings caused me to reflect on the journey of life.
I thought of a sign I’d seen earlier that said Adventure Awaits. What kind of adventure did I want this morning? Was it one to keep me feeling safe and secure or one to help me experience something new?

My body and mind refreshed; I followed the river until I reached the bank taking me back to the main walkway.
What looked like translucent blue balloons were scattered here and there along the shoreline. They were almost an oval shape and ranged in size from small to medium.
Something was missing on my morning walks alongside the creek this year. One day I realized I had only seen a few ducks and none with ducklings. I enjoyed watching numerous fluffy little ones last year and wondered where this year’s babies were. There must be some nearby. Why hadn’t I spotted any?

The walking path was set above a rocky incline that led to the river below. A chain link fence kept pedestrians safe while still affording a view of the scenic valley.
I first published this story several years ago. It seemed fitting to share it again today.
It was a beautiful sunny morning when I paused to enjoy the reflection of trees on a smooth as glass pond. On the other side of the water, something caused me to stare in disbelief.