It came to me in a meditation. From my recollection, I was the soul, the observer of this scene: an outline of a man sitting under a tree on a dock overlooking the ocean with a dark blue sky. But at closer review, I began to remember.
I was the tree. I provided you shade from the sun on those hot summer days so you could write your stories. I was the landmark of your first kiss, the first place you came when you proposed to your wife, and your child’s first steps.
I was the dock. I was there to help you catapult into the ocean. I was your scaffold as you became progressively stronger and independent. I was your seat when you grew tired.
I was the sea. I provided the gentle landing when you catapulted off the dock. I was the first to catch your tears when your heart was broken. I was there for all of your secrets, fears, and dreams. I helped you float when you felt like sinking.
I was the sky. I held all the stars you made wishes on, all the clouds you’d watch float by, and all of your prayers you sent to God. I let the sun shine on you in moments of triumph and shed tears with you during moments of despair.
I loved you in another lifetime, and I’ll love you in all the other lifetimes too.