It seems a silly exercise to complain or be bothered by anything in this charmed existence when so much is so terribly wrong in so many other places. There is a heaviness that seems to bear down upon us all now, at least among any slightly empathetic or feeling human beings, and it’s wearing on my heart as much as anyone else’s. I wish I had the words or the power to make things just a little bit better, but I don’t know if those words exist, and if there’s anything remotely real about power, it’s not something that one person can use to actually change anyone else. Not on the inside, at least.
All I can do is post these photos of a bouquet of sunflowers I procured for a friend’s birthday many years ago. Born in the early days of May, she personified so much of what is good in this world, so much of what I most wanted to be. She loved sunflowers, so when we met in Boston for dinner I brought her these. I wish I could remember more of that night – what we talked about, where we went to eat, what was going on in her life at the time – but it has slipped away, barely rekindled by these photos.
She is gone now, from my life and from this world, taken too soon by cancer, yet still haunting me because we never got to say good-bye. Sunflowers remind me of her, bringing back her quick and loud laughter, her keen intelligence, her steely vulnerability. In the nodding head of a flower, I see all the good that is somehow present amid this madness, even if my friend is somewhere else. I also feel all the sadness, all the loss, and all the ways we have failed each other. Even looking into the face of the sun, it is sometimes difficult to locate the light.
