The ice is thinner here.
I don’t remember being on the shoreline, but I know I started out there. When I took my first few wobbly steps onto the ice, I didn’t think much about it breaking. No one did. It was so thick there, and a downy blanket of snow covered the surface. Sure, it was a little slippery, but there wasn’t much chance of anything bad happening.
Except it did sometimes.
Even though it seemed impossible, some fell through close to the shoreline. One slipped through right next to me. I heard the cracks. I didn’t believe them. I saw his face. He wasn’t afraid, but looking back, I think he heard more in the crackling surface beneath his feet than I did. I looked away for a moment. When I turned back to the place he had been standing, he was gone.
Mother was always a little further out than me. She could always see me. She wasn’t that far away. I could tell she was scanning the ice that lay ahead of me. She was always telling me to step with care, to shift right or shift left, to watch out for cracks, and to make sure of my footing before taking another step. She stood near Father, who was always trying to find the safest path forward, ever inching farther out away from shore.
Mammaw and Granddaddy were out past Mother and Father. Their steps were more measured, as though they knew there were thin spots around them. All the while, they kept encouraging Mother and Father to step with confidence. They shouted their support to me as well. It was harder to hear them than it was to hear Mother and Father. I didn’t always understand what they were trying to say, but they never took their eyes from those of us closer to land until, one by one, they slipped beneath the surface.
The ice slowly opened around Mother, long before it should have. Sure, she was farther out than I was, but I didn’t expect the ice to be so thin there. It didn’t seem that way at first. There were a few cracks around her feet here and there, but she was still standing just fine. It took a long time for anyone to realize that although the cracks were small, they were silently advancing all around Mother, weakening her position. She cautiously stepped onward, further from shore, but the spidery cracks advanced with her, slowly overcoming and encompassing her. Father did all he could, but the cracks were too numerous for him to patch, even if he had a way to patch them. He just had to be near her and love her. He could at least do that, and he did. He never took his eyes off her, even as the crumbling ice kept her from seeing him. Everyone had to just watch as she sank, finally disappearing into the water below.
My sisters were just a few steps ahead of me. I tried to walk in the pathways they had trod, thinking that if the ice was safe for them, it would be for me.
That was not a reasonable plan.
Large, fast-moving fissures suddenly appeared around the feet of one of my sisters. No one saw them coming. No one expected them. Not Mother. Not Father. Not my sisters. Not me. The cracks were ugly. They tore at the surface with angry pops and cracks. It was deafening. My sister didn’t panic, but she tried to leap from the area where the cracks were spreading to somewhere more solid. She managed to do that. Everyone thought she was safe. She wasn’t. The cracks followed her. Eventually, they surrounded her, and the ice gave way. I watched as she sank beneath the surface. I was too far away to try to pull her back. None of us could reach her. She didn’t cry out in fear or alarm. As the water rose around her, she seemed to be at peace. It was as if she knew the mystery of what lay beneath the ice, and it was somehow a source of solace rather than terror.
Now I am far beyond the place where my sister fell. The ice is thinner here.
Father’s fall through the ice shook me. He had no fear about his next step. The ice gave him no worries. It was what it was. It was the ice he was meant to traverse. He always tried to help everyone he met to step safely in ways that would bring them joy and satisfaction. He was always satisfied with the steps he took. He never looked back on his own path, but he always looked behind to help me choose the next place to plant a step. When he fell, it was like everything I ever leaned on to make sure I was OK had suddenly been taken away. I know Father would scold me for thinking that way. Faith was his buttress. It should be mine. That was a hard lesson to take to heart when I had Father out in front of me. He was seen. It was easy to believe. Suddenly, I had to rely on the unseen.
I can see the place where Mother fell. I don’t like to look at it. Not only does it represent a time of great pain for me, but it also is a source of fear and dread. What if the spidery cracks that surrounded her suddenly appear around me?
The place where Father fell is farther out, but I can see it. I don’t like it. There’s a lot of thin ice around that place and I seem to be getting closer to it every day. I can’t stop. My march is forced. No one can walk back toward the shoreline. No one can stay where they are. We must move forward. No one fully understands that, but no one can deny it. You can pretend you aren’t moving, but you do it anyway. You can fantasize about walking backward, but in the end, you can’t. If you don’t walk, you slip—always forward. Better to choose your path than have it chosen for you. So, I step.
Stepping can be hard. The ice is thinner here.
Sometimes, I see shapes beneath the ice. At least, I think I do. Maybe it’s my imagination. Sometimes, the ice appears to be more transparent. Most of the time, it’s completely opaque, but there are times I think I can make out something going on down there. A lot of times, it’s when someone ahead of me or behind me says something to me that generates wonder, rather than dread, about what could be under the surface. You would think shadowy shapes swimming under my feet would terrify me, but they don’t. Somehow, they comfort me. Somehow, they make the water seem less frigid. I know it doesn’t make logical sense to think this way, but sometimes I think that maybe the water is warm. Maybe it’s not an icy grave. Maybe there’s something more. Father’s voice joins Mother’s and my sister’s and those of my grandparents and shouts in my head, “Of course there is!”
It’s hard to trust the voices. I know it’s wrong not to, but it’s so cold here. The wind rips across my face, forcing tears from my eyes. I see and hear cracks opening up around me, more frequently as each year passes, taking friends, family, and strangers alike under the surface. They don’t come back. No one ever does. That makes trusting even more difficult.
Then there’s the guilt. I remember Father. I remember how his focus was on his family. He filled his days watching the ice for cracks and directing our paths. I remember his example. I have a family. I have a wife who is walking right beside me. I have children who are several steps behind, but still in sight. I can clearly see thin and cracking ice in their path. I have an obligation to all of them. My wife sees the cracks. She is more vigilant than I am, and she does a better job at ignoring the cracks at her own feet in order to keep me and her children from falling through. I lean on her while trying to watch her feet, but I feel inadequate. I sometimes fail to notice her peril due to peril I perceive to be my own. That’s selfish, and it’s definitely not the example I was given to follow.
The ice is thinner here.
I know that someday, I will take my last step on the surface of the ice and plunge below. Everyone does, eventually. Everyone will, eventually. Trepidation grips me in an icy clutch more terrible than the battering winds. When will that last step happen? Will I know I am taking it, unable to halt my progress? How many will I have to see fall around me before that happens? What if I take a step I shouldn’t? What if I don’t take a step I should? Even worse, what if I fail to direct a step taken by a family member? What if I suggest a step that leads them to thinner and thinner ice?
Paralysis. The ice is thinner here.
Father’s voice returns, “That’s God’s business.” Now it’s not the frigid wind that pries loose the tears. It’s a memory of faith. It’s a lesson taught, but not fully learned. It’s a life lived, but not fully appreciated. I fall to my knees under the burden of my own failure to understand the most important thing of all. Trust. Do your best. Trust God to do the rest. All humans fail. It is a part of our nature. No humans can see past the ice. It is a limitation of our place in the universe. The ice is cold. It clouds our vision so that we cannot see what is on the other side. The unknown is always scary. The key to it all is to understand that it’s not really unknown; it’s just unknown to those of us walking on it. We walk. We help others walk. We tread as far as we can, hoping that we are taking the steps we should. When the ice breaks, clarity comes.
Comfort. The ice is thinner here.
