A View From Above

His words could not have been any more impactful if he had literally reached out and popped Clarence in the forehead. “If he were still here, none of us would be”.

Standing around our future kitchen at the farm; Clarence, his best friend, Randy, who bought the family farm after Clarence’s brother passed away, and a lifelong friend and neighbor named, Virgil (think rancher from Yellowstone). The guys were talking about the work they had done for the day, how great it all was coming together, and in the month of his passing, my husband remembered his brother, whose death was the reason the farm went up for sale 11 years ago.

At that time, Clarence not only lost his brother, but he lost his best friend. While we are excited and weird childlike ways to have this farm, it came at a price that my husband is very acutely aware of, which was brought front and center by Virgil’s comment, “if he were still here, none of us would be”.

So many times in life, we struggle with loss, grief, and all of its various forms – maybe it’s the loss of a job, a relationship, or in this case, a loved one. When we’re lucky, we get the view from above at some point. This was one of those times.

Clarence and I have always believed that we are together because of the passing of both of our brothers; mine 12 years ago in January, and his brother, a year later also in January. The crazy part is both of these brothers had first names that start with D, they were both born in May, and they both died in January, one year apart. Without their losses, we would never have had a friendship.

Now, all this time later, as an old married couple (lol) the effects of their passing are still showing themselves to us. On this particular day, at that particular moment, more clearly than ever. If Clarence and his brother had not passed away, the farm would never have gone up for sale and Clarence would never have struck an agreement with his best friend to purchase it. If those great friends had never purchased it, they never would’ve been able to look at us a year ago and say hey, we’ve been thinking about selling, and we only want to sell it to you. From there, the rest is history unfolding through us. My husband, stepping back into his homeland, and once again, a deed to this land under the name Cronin.

Without his brother passing, none of us would be standing in the kitchen, creating a home for ourselves, that God willing we will live in decades into our future.

It’s crazy how it works sometimes, and I am so thankful for the rare opportunities to see the bigger picture playing out in front of me. Those God winks, as I call them, are often few and far between and yet so absolutely cherished by me. Those views from above moments remind me that I am on a path that is of service to a greater purpose. It is great as I am at figuring it all out, that there is something, much larger and more magical at work through us. You can create a name, or find a name, or call it anything you want. I just say thank you to whatever it is that creates magic from hardship and smiles on us once in a while, sharing its wisdom with the greater work in progress.

I could get all up in my head about this if I really let myself. What’s the next chapter? Who will we pass this land to? Will there be some mystery unfolding through us? I’m sure of the last one, the rest I’m just gonna leave right here on a shelf for that magical force. For myself, I stand in gratitude for the sacrifices that have been made, the work that has been done, and for those people we loved, who had to step out of our paths completely in order to open the door that we didn’t even see the crack of light through until one moment standing in our kitchen.

In honor of David Gertken and Duane Cronin. We see you, we love you, and we thank you. Forever missed, never forgotten.

Forever the journey, Anne

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