Today I walked into Sage Chapel at Cornell to pray. I thought it might be nice. As I arrived, a brief walk from my office, I soaked in the quiet of this beautiful building with no one around.
I remember the first time I walked into this chapel in the winter of December 1984. At the time, there was a road in front of it and parking. I was with my parents and we were attending a wedding. I don’t think I ever saw the bride again and the couples we sat with, maybe once or twice.
1984 was 34 years ago. It struck me as peacefully odd that I ended up here all these years later. I prayed for my parents and everyone I know. Then I thought how many beautiful pictures and angles one could take of this chapel.
It is like life…angles…one snapshot here, another there, people coming and going.
I asked my husband how I would ever get over my Mother’s death. You do and you will…you will remember her but she will seem so far away he said, not verbatim but in essence.
My Mother feels so far far away and she is only 39 days into the either. She told me once I would miss her someday and she was right. It seems at this moment like she was never here, as if it was a dream.
Behind my office at Cornell University, or rather to the side and behind the imposing statue of Ezra Cornell, sits this memorial to a professor .
I have created the narrative of slow thoughtful research for this professor. I see him with drawings and diagrams all hand drawn as he passes knowledge from one generation to another.
In my mind’s eye, this professor is hiking around our towns, stopping to point his finger at a phenomenon in the natural world. His students stand still, quiet, holding his words, filing them carefully for another time to be accessed on their own hikes.
I hear a quiet peaceful noise when I stop by this monument to this teacher. I think it is nice and kind that he remains here to remind us all of what can be learned in silent, steady, peaceful observation.
I note well that this monument, this glacial rock, has stood still during my 2 plus years at this job. Still and motionless as my life progresses on faster than I ever imagined in the springtime of adulthood.