Loss and The Lake 

When I go home to Conneaut, I find myself in the same ritual. I visit St. Joe’s and Glenwood Cemeteries to thank my parents and honor my grandmother, aunt and uncle for all that they did, for all that they were. 

I know now.

I know that growing in a family of good people in a town filled with good people is an enviable advantage in life. We learned how to be in the world–responsible, honest and fair. Trying to be anything less than that is very uncomfortable. Trust me, I know.

After the cemeteries, I usually drive my gratitude and sadness to the bluff at Township Park. As I put my car in park, I smile at the universal fact of life in our town–nearly every teenager learns something of love and angst in a car parked at this very spot! 

The vast expanse of blue green water and sand is a comfort.  Despite all that I have lost, this town and this lake remain the same. The eighty-year-old swings below are a tribute to all the mothers and fathers who, like mine, did their best to raise good human beings for our world.  

Standing on the bluff I know that I have a “leg up” in life because of this place and its people.

It was almost forty years ago when I moved away from the lake for the first time in my life. I had a new job just fifty miles inland, but it might just as well have been in the middle of a desert. Surrounded by land, I could not get my geographical bearings. Which way was north?  It took many months before I could feel Lake Erie again, to know for sure which way was north.

True North.

I would love to hear your thoughts.

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