Gone

I wrote this reflection the day after I returned to the hustle and bustle of Tirana after a hike in the beautiful mountains of Northern Albania, October, 2022. It's an invitation to grieve the loss of something good and hold on to the memories!

I returned to the city.

***

To quickly escape the suffocation, dust, brick, and mortar, I zoomed past buildings on my bike.

Past billboards

Past lights, and stores. Out of the suffocation of the city to get to the nearest place of calm.

I arrived at the lake, passing by rippling waters.

Except this time I wasn't going slow enough to actually see the waters ripple.

Passed ducks or swans waddling through the mud—not sure which they were—I either couldn’t or didn’t hold my gaze long enough.

I zigzagged through the runners and walkers.

A mom and a dad pushing a stroller.

Another couple holding hands of a child just learning to walk.

A gray-haired couple on a bench, the wife hunched over, gasping for breath.

Couples young and old, arm in arm, some staring into each other’s eyes.

The red, yellow, and orange leaves no longer glistened the same as they did in the mountains when the sun rays shot through them.

The breeze no longer comforted me with that same calmness it had the day before.

I had exchanged green pastures for brown patches.

Gone, like the sweet by and by.

Even the trees of the fields seemed to have branches tied behind their backs, unable to anticipate the clapping of their hands one day.

And my eyes no longer met the gaze of the people I passed.

Not even long enough for someone else to feel uncomfortable and divert their gaze.

What happened, I wondered, to the man from Kosovo?

The one we met on the top of the pass.

His face and hands, seemingly hardened from a lifetime of work and a war, but with a smile and eyes full of kindness—touched not only by the presence of his son and nephew and grandson, but also by an unexpected encounter with strangers from afar who spoke his language?

Gone

And what about Qendrim, who saw my legs cramping up on the mountain and quickly pulled out the magnesium packet to provide me with what I needed to complete the journey?

Gone

What men with rough northern accents at the dinner table next to us who kindly waited until we left after our long dinner so they could begin theirs?

Gone

And gone was the cliff where we had stopped to remember the two Swiss hikers whose lives were suddenly taken away as they walked along one of the most beautiful views of their lives…

… Surely, the lives of some people I passed in the city today would also be cut short suddenly—not on a breathtaking mountain trail but…

… on a street too narrow for three lanes of traffic

… in a city with people bustling to catch one bus and then another

… in a country where people are forced to leave the green pastures and still waters to move to an overcrowded city

…in a world where … what can I say about the world?

About greed?

About injustice?

About the revenge?

About my own heart?

***

And now I remember—that as we sat with the Valbona valley in full view...

drawing pictures

exchanging stories

lamenting hardships of loved ones far away

and grieving the pain within us

I remember that moment when I punctuated every story with a not-so-reverent

“ECHO”

and the mountains validated the goodness of that by calling back

“ECHO”

Tears

And laughter.

Pain

And joy.

In that moment, it seemed that my eyes looked beyond the valley towards a heavenly city—one like the fairytales but true, real.

That longing for a place of perfect peace,

that light shining within me as the sun burst forth over the mountain tops,

that joy I discovered... was

not gone.

It was within me.

Dimly but shining.

It would not be snuffed out.