June | 2025 | iwillcarryyou

I made my way down the steep, overgrown trail that leads down to the creek, taking extra precautions not to wreck my aging knees. I used to come down here regularly, outfitted with creek boots and my water color paints. It was food for my soul, as I basked in nature’s resplendence, surrounded by bird songs and the trickling creek water that I used for my painting. I didn’t bring my paints with me this time, but I was hoping for more of that same reprieve today. I needed it. As I inched my way down the hill, I recalled the time I brought Nora down here, portable oxygen tank and all. As I recalled, it was a crisp fall day, which of course called for her little fleece vest. And if she’d had some little tiny creek boots, she certainly would have had those on too. (Could you even imagine??) (Cute.)

I tiptoed across the creek rocks and made my way over to the slab of limestone where I remembered we had sat. And just to make sure I hadn’t dreamt it, I went back to the blog I had written about it, which of course included pictures:

October, 2012

…. I looked up at the patches of blue sky through the tops of the trees and smiled, “Thank you for this, God. Thank you!!!”

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So there I sat in the exact same spot, 4,600-something days later with the gravity of this memory heavy on my heart. However, those same words of gratitude are still on my lips. She was so worth every ounce of the pain that remains. I’ll carry it with honor until my very own last breath, holding true to my promise to her from the very, very beginning, “I will carry you.”

Amidst my moment of sorrowful gratitude, I watched as a trio of robins splashed around in a shallow pool of the creek — enjoying bird baffs. Lovely little wild flowers, here also for just a short season.

My dear friend Tamara shared this reel with me recently. It’s by a band called Colony House. The speaker’s words sum up this day of grief so beautifully:

https://www.facebook.com/share/r/1QzvCN5Dyc/?mibextid=wwXIfr

In case that link doesn’t function properly, it says this, “Seventeen years ago today, me and Will’s little sister, Maria, passed from this life and into the next. It’s something we haven’t addressed much, at least deliberately as a band. But her story is woven into the fabric of every single Colony House album in one way or another. And I imagine it will always be that way. In the past, May 21st has been a day on the calendar that, if given the choice, any Chapman would gladly erase or at least skip right over. If you’re someone whose grief has a day attached to it, maybe you understand what I mean. But, unfortunately, it doesn’t work that way.

Every year, you have to wake up on that day and decide what to make of it. Or, honestly, wait and see what the day will make of you. There was a moment a few days after Maria’s passing, where I felt like I was given a vision, or at least a moment in the midst of the storm where the clouds opened up long enough for me to see something I hadn’t before. It wasn’t a hologram, or a burning bush, or some deep low voice. Just a mental picture of someone standing in front of a gigantic painting — like, enormous. The canvas was stretched to the heavens, and as far as the eye could see. And here was this person standing with their nose, literally touching the canvas — trying to make sense of what the image could be. And it didn’t make sense. It just looked like a blur of colors and random brush strokes, violent and out of place with no point.

The person then took a step back.

They took another step

and another step.

With each step back, the painting made more and more sense, like small pieces of it began to come into focus. Like the further away this person got from the canvas, the more all these random, blurry shapes and colors came to life.

In that moment, I think I realized that this painting or this life will never fully make sense on this side of eternity. But with every year that passes, we step further away from this canvas and closer to the day where it all comes into focus. The day we’re with our little sister again, we finally get to see the masterpiece in full.”