May - Snow
June - Fire (across the state)
July - Tornado at Pikes Peak (14,110 feet)
August - Rain on the burn scar (localized flooding)
September - Statewide floods
The May snow was funny, but the June fires, so reminiscent of last year, reminded me of the impermanence of nature, and how impermanent life and memory can be. And while at first the rains were cleansing, as if to wash away the ashes, they became a challenge, a testament to a few strong people in Manitou and surrounding areas who continued to scrape away the flood damages with each passing storm.
The things around us, places we imbue with memory and significance, are impermanent.
They remind us that everything is temporary. It is a lesson I do not like, yet life reinforces it, as if I am not already well versed in it. I lost my father as a child, my eldest brother in 2006, my mother in 2011. That should be enough loss for one family, and yet the lessons keep coming.
Last August, my nephew Sam died following a car crash that altered the landscape of our extended family. Sam played with Legos, drew, wrote, and was highly intelligent. He had one of those souls that drew people to him. And he was an impermanent part of our lives.
As the rain doused the state last week, as America remembered 9/11, we remembered Sam, born on September 11, 2001. He would have been twelve this year.
His passing, like the fires, has left scars that will take decades to heal.
Last night, trying to sleep, this song filtered into my brain like a mist off the rain. I'm playing it today for Sam.