The lake brings a sense of peace and holds so many of my memories. Chip loved the lake and his summers as a kid on Skaneateles Lake. He shared his love with me, and it is where we would go for long weekends, and then with the kids. Each year, since he died, I have rented a house in the Finger Lakes. Last night on the deck, I began thinking about what it meant to me then, and what it means to me now, trying so hard to hold on to those memories.

Sunrise, When It Was Ours

For years, we rented a house on Skaneateles with the kids, always on the west side of the lake, delivering a breathtaking sunrise. Our bedroom faced the lake, and once the sky lightened, I would wake him up to watch the sun rise. Quietly, he conceded, and we would go down to the dock with a French press and two Wegmans muffins. In a rare act of self-control, I sat silently next to Chip. Sitting close, coffee cup in hand and without talking, we would take in the world as it awakened, the day filled with possibilities. It was spectacular.

Sunset Delivers a Different Perspective

Interestingly, and not by choice, I’ve been renting a lake house since he died. I thought the kids and I should be together at a place that he loved. It is on the east side, and I now have the sunset. There is something about the finality of the sunset. To me, it is not filled with possibilities. It is not new or hope or dawn. It is done. The sun goes down, deserving of silence and respect as the light and colors change. And the line it creates on the lake’s surface, just illuminating that red, is beautiful, and so is what happens after it goes down. For a minute, it’s still. The flags stop blowing in the breeze, and nothing moves, forcing your eyes and soul to feel what is transpiring. Then that sky pops open with reds and yellows, painting it against the night sky.

I have a bird’s-eye view from the chair that I’m sitting in right now, and I am overwhelmed with emotion.

Trying to Feel Him Here With Me

Over the past five years, I’ve witnessed the sunset with a bourbon, a Scotch, port, ice wine, and even one of his cigars, trying to find some semblance of connection, hoping my heart will find his. It cannot be. There isn’t; there just isn’t. What goes on in my heart or my head is where the connection is; a physical reaction to my thoughts. But now it just doesn’t work.

What I Thought I Could Do

And it’s getting harder to come to the lake. I find less of the joy in it. And that makes me sad, because I thought I could do it. I thought I could fulfill our dream of retiring, buying a lake house, and being here. But that was meant for two souls, not meant for mine alone. And I can’t do it.

Sunrise or sunset, in the end, whether I’m watching the day start or saying good night, I’m by myself. And I can’t fix that. Nothing can change it. It’s beautiful during the day. I sit and read a book. I feel the sun on my skin. And I miss hearing him sleep because he would get in the sun and just sleep, and he slept like the dead, no pun intended. Deep and peaceful. The lake did something for him. I thought I could get it to do something for me, but it will not… It cannot.

For You.

I miss you, Chip, with all my heart. I am fully aware you cannot read this, but I am also aware of feeling you beside me. I believe that’s why I sometimes feel chest pain; it is my heart searching for you, your touch, your love, and that perfect kiss that could leave me breathless. I understand now death by a broken heart.  There is no healing.

I can’t… I can’t wish it away, or change it, or bring you back.

PS, here is a post from 2015 talking about lake mornings, coffee, and Wegmans muffins: