There are certain ‘dear friends’ you can not see for days, weeks, months or years, but upon meeting after any sort of absence, you simply hit play. The relationship had been paused during those absent times, but only paused. There is never the awkwardness of having to hit rewind or get reacquainted. You pick up right where you left off. That is what truly makes friendships special and rare. There are two women in my life like this but today I realized I had a third ‘dear friend,’ and today I found out it was lost. It was not a typical friend. It was not even a flesh and blood someone. I could not laugh with them, rest with them, walk with them, cry with them, or grow up with them, yet it was a friend I laughed in, rested in, walked in, cried in, and grew up in. It was home. It was a thousand memories that will remain despite this death. It was a true ‘dear’ friend. Upon meeting after a yearly absence nothing had changed. You could simply hit play. It felt the same, looked the same, smelled the same, and brought joy in the same way it always had. I realize the idea of having a ‘non-person’ friend may sound foolish to some, but it was not until today that I realized this was how I felt about the cabin. I always knew it was special. I never took it for granted, yet it never entered my mind that one day it could cease to stand where it had always stood. This was the sad discovered reality this past week. Due to flood devastation it would have to be torn down. The bridge that always tethered one end of dad’s hammock is gone. My little green room will be gone. The bedroom where my brother always slept will be gone. I remember him hiding all his little food and rock treasures in those sliding headboard compartments. There are no more chances to go pounce on mom and dad on those cold mornings as they sleep at the top of the stairs . . . always with their windows open. There is no more reading the Bible and Robin Hood in the living room or curling up together around the fireplace. It will be gone. There are no more chances to take my husband . . . to enjoy waking up to that babbling stream together. Our daughter will never see it. There is no more sitting at the table in the morning drinking coffee while watching the hummingbirds. Their little feeding post will be gone. The trees will still drop their pine cones, but there will be no more pine cone baseball, and no more walking into town to the General store for peanuts, diet coke, and cinnamon rolls. I imagine the pain will always be there . . . I don’t know if you ever recover from such a loss, yet nothing can take from you memories and a spirit of thankfulness. The cabin was a vehicle for love, discovery, laughter, good conversations, and growth of many kinds. I am thankful to have had such a dear friend, and will think fondly of them even in their absence. New memories will be made and a new spot may have to be forged, but thank you God for this old, treasured friend.
This year flood ravished Estes Park and Glen Haven Colorado.
Many businesses and homes have been destroyed. The General Store has been open about rebuilding. Here’s the link to their donation site if you’d like to help