Walking the beam

I’ve always loved this photo of me and Tristan. It was taken on a beautiful summer’s day when my kids and I were all together, enjoying each other and our friends. Tristan balances on a cement beam set between a parking lot and grassy hillside. He walks carefully, confidently, teetering a bit, losing balance now and again, but he always corrects himself. He stays on the beam, eyes ahead.

I walk by his side, near enough to lend him my strength, my support, my faith in his ability to walk the beam. I’m with him not because I’m worried that he’ll fall and scrape his knee, but simply because I love being near him. My eyes are also ahead, to our lives beyond the photo, a life filled with friendship and love.

We walk together, side by side, filled with each other’s nearness, sharing the joy we feel for the world around us, outside of us.

Now, I imagine our roles are reversed. I’m walking the beam, one foot carefully in front of the other. Sometimes I lose balance in this new life, without him. I teeter, my arms flail as I right myself and carry on, eyes ahead to the world in front of me.

I feel Tristan walking by my side, close enough to lend me his strength, his support, his faith in my ability to walk the beam. To walk this new life, without him. He’s confident of my footing. He simply continues to share his love with me. His eyes are ahead, and he’s smiling at the life filled with friendship and love that he sees before me.