Trust

On Thursday I cleaned out the gutters. As I clambered up the ladder, dodging the string lights and feeling my hand slip on the adjacent corrugated shed roof, I thought of Paul. Of course I thought of him because ordinarily he would have been the one to clean the gutters. But I heard him in my head telling me to be careful and commenting on my fumbles – “you move like a cat.”

Earlier in the week I had been thinking about all the things that Paul did with casual ease. If you have ever biked, rowed, fished or skied with him, you would be familiar with his steady and confident pace. He sometimes stood on the side of caution where others wouldn’t hesitate, but because of his proven skill at reading situations, I trusted his instincts.

I have been in relationships with people that I didn’t trust. Not in the deception or dishonesty kind of way (that too) but in the sense that I wasn’t sure they could keep themselves, or me, or my friends, safe. It is something you can easily take for granted when you find someone whose life skills you don’t question.

I miss him. I miss his beautiful big hands that were capable of steadily tying an intricate fly or building a bike wheel or gently rough-housing with Karl. I miss having him there to tell the stories I can never remember right or to answer random questions about geology, philosophy, snow, or birds. But despite my independence, I also really miss having him there to make me feel safe.