The Circle
It’s another circle in my life. This time it was an exchange.
Today, I attended a tree dedication in honor of a man I never met. (I often go to places some might say I don’t belong because I feel compelled by a force that I can’t explain. It’s what I do. I hope that it is God who guides my steps.) It was a ceremony of simple beauty, a celebration of lives touched, friendship, and appreciation. The type of tree (a ginkgo) is known to grow for 1,000 years. It will stand as a reminder that though his time with us seems short, the impact we have on others–and even the world as a whole–is everlasting.
When all who had words to share had spoken, the people were invited to visit with his wife. Not his widow. Somehow I got the impression that he was still with her, that they remain connected. But she was very sad. He passed away over a month ago, and the pain is still so fresh. I wanted to comfort her, but nothing seemed right to say. Since last night, I was planning to give her a gift: a ring I purchased at a Native American gathering a few years back. ( It’s the shape of a turtle, and his back is made of turquoise. ) This morning I left the house without it. All I had with me was my backpack and its contents. My dragonfly charm was pinned on to the front of my backpack. I decided to give her the charm, and the safety-pin that was holding it on also, so she could put it wherever she chose. A few people were ahead of me, offering their condolences, and her reply to each was a tearful “Thank you.” By definition, this grieving woman and I were strangers, but as I approached I felt the deep kinship of the human condition. She opened her arms to me and I gave her a gentle hug. Then I held her hands, placing the charm in them. Like a magic trick. Like a secret gift. She said, “Thank you.” And I said “You’re welcome.” What else could I say?
Perhaps she already knows that dragonflies are symbols of peace and insight, messengers of the spirit. The Lakota people place importance on direction and the number four. Will she see the head and tail and wingtips on each side as north, south, east and west? Or think of the elements? I think chances are greater that next summer, she will see dragonflies and think of what was done and said at this dedication. Even more likely, she will think of him. Whatever meaning the dragonfly has to her, I hope it is a cheerful reminder.
Years ago, I was in a town far from here, on the set of my first movie. An actor whom I admired was walking past a group of young men. They began to sing one of his songs (he’s also a musician) and he stopped to visit with them. I wanted so badly to speak to him that I managed to squeeze my way between the guys (“Excuse me”, “Pardon me”, “Sorry”) so that I could have my chance. I just had to tell him how much I appreciated the way his characters always made me laugh, and I enjoyed listening to his songs with my kids. He was a great role-model as a husband and a father, not to mention an inspiration to anyone who dreams of performing themselves someday. So it all filled my brain–everything I wanted to say. Then it was my moment. I held out my hand. He took it. I shook his hand, but the only words I could find were, “Thank you.” He looked me in the eye and said, “You’re welcome.” Then I became a part of the crowd again.
These were two very different events, with identical dialogue. The exact same words were spoken. There was a touch, a connection. Then it was over. Or could it be that every time our lives cross paths with another person’s, even briefly, it makes a difference? How do we measure what matters? And how do we say so much with only four common words?
I feel like an invisible circle in my life has been completed.
I am sure it is one of a multitude…
