A Sweet Sadness

When I left work I felt impelled to turn right instead of left and found myself heading towards LaConner. Tracy Spring’s CD, Looking Forward – Looking Back – was playing in my car – bluesy and poignant – and I felt myself going to that place where I find Moz. I carried her with me in-between fields filled with snow geese and trumpeter swans and I could see her in my thoughts, smiling at the beauty around us, enjoying our drive together.

I stopped at the LaConner Inn (where Moz and Dad used to live) to pick up any mail that might have been sent there. Whenever I go to their old place I always look up at the deck where I used to see Moz waving at me as I arrived and left.

I picked up the mail from the nice lady at the desk – the mail all came from charities that Moz used to give to. Sometimes it’s kind of disconcerting to see her name on all these envelopes from people still asking her for money – but today it made me smile.

As I left town I decided to stop at the coffee shop I used to go to all the time when I visited Moz and Dad. There was a man who looked like he could use a warm cup of coffee outside the shop, getting on a bike. I asked him if I could buy him a coffee and he smiled and said he’d just had a cup, but he’d take me up on the offer another time. He said he was sorry, he didn’t remember my name. I laughed and told him we’d never met. And then he laughed, too, and introduced himself.

I went into the coffee shop and asked the barista behind the counter if she had any pumpkin lattes. She said they didn’t have the pumpkin pulp anymore, but she could give me a pumpkin spice latte and that sounded perfect. We began talking – and I learned her beloved grandmother had just passed on. We talked about her grandma for a bit – she was very dear to her grand-daughter – and the barista teared up as she talked. I shared Moz with her then, and told her about the drive I was having with Moz. She came around the counter and we hugged. And there was a kinship there.

She mentioned the man I’d just met outside her shop – apparently she provides him with a coffee every day and sometimes he’ll spend three or four hours in the shop. She’s told him that if he ever needs anything – a trip to the doctor or whatever – he just needs to let her know. I told her I’d just offered him a cup of coffee, too, but he’d said he’d just had one – and I realized she’d been the one who’d provided him with the coffee. Again, I felt a kinship with her. We introduced ourselves to each other – her name is Judy – and I told her I knew I’d see her again.

I got back in the car with my pumpkin spice latte and drove back home, passing flocks of snow geese and trumpeter swans on the way. Tracy Spring’s music filled my car, and I found myself sobbing – not with grief, exactly – I felt a good kind of sadness, if that makes any sense. A sweet kind of sadness, remembering Moz and feeling her with me.
– Karen

(I’m not sure I’ve written Tracy’s lyrics in the right form, but here are some of the words to her song *Remember*.)
“It’s so hard to say good-bye…
All things pass,
of this I am sure,
love and music will endure,
and when I’m gone
remember the song,
remember how I loved.”
– Tracy Spring

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