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[photo courtesy of Kelly]
I’ve been mulling over in my mind the past several weeks wondering if I could
crystallize my many thoughts into one fine black point.
The little voice inside my head just said, “Are you really serious?”
Since the night I wrote ‘Boxes’ my world has changed dramatically.
On one level, there is this welcome sense of relief regarding the final end for my father and his long fought ordeal; another level acknowledges a deep sadness knowing and accepting the fact that he is truly gone.
I took a ride yesterday afternoon to North Cemetery where my mother and father are now buried.
It was unseasonably warm with a cobalt-blue sky, a Cape Cod-like sea breeze and enough
brilliant sunshine to make me start daydreaming about the summer months ahead.
This place where the earth now wraps its arms securely around my parents has become
hallowed ground for many reasons.
For me, it is a tangible point of communication, a visible portal to somewhere I’ve never been,
a place where special things happen and are accepted for all that they are.
It was no different yesterday as I stood staring at the rose granite bench bearing the names:
Virginia A. & Walter M.
Best friends, I thought.
The engravers had paid a visit and finished the stone.
The circle was now complete.
I was alone in the cemetery and sat down on the sun-warmed bench, stretching my legs out into the sunshine.
To my right was the small flag stuck in a holder that now marks my father as an American veteran.
I was sitting for less than a minute when the wind picked up.
The tiny flag began waving gently and touched my arm.
“Hey, Dad,” I said, smiling at the thought.
The flag continued to wave, touching my arm, my soul, my heart.
It was sitting there that I began to finally accept the finality of these past few weeks.
The stone was done, seeds were planted and tears rolled down my cheeks watering the dry earth below me.
As I stood up, the breeze ceased and the flag drooped down.
I kissed the palm of my hand and placed it on the warm rose granite bench that now held their names.
“You’re finally home, Dad,” I said to an empty cemetery.
I got in my truck and drove away a different man then when I originally came in and
for the first time in many years, something felt right.
~m
It’s so difficult to imagine how we will handle things as we realize that the inevitable truly is inevitable. As tough as it is to let go there’s a certain liberation in knowing those we will miss every moment are in far more capable hands now.
the weight was on you for so long, i think you got used to it. the way you get used to an unpleasant yard you pass on your daily commute, that grumpy customer who never has something nice to say or the mean dog your neighbors have that barks every time you enter or leave your home…
when the yard is cleaned up, the grumpy guy stops coming in, and the dog is suddenly gone? it still takes some getting used to…
glad you’re getting through this phase… onwards…
I know what you mean about that final goodbye, when you know they are home. I’ve experienced once before, a final gentle farewell. Almost like you know he has arrived safely and is no longer in transit.
I have to tell you, I love their bench! What a nice choice….special, just like the two of them. I bet the visit was a sad time, as well as a peaceful time…to reflect on the people they were and how happy they are to be together….watching over you, Maureen and your families!
Your words are extremely personal, yet universal to any of us, all of us, who have lost someone in our lives.
The path to closure is but another part of the journey you started so long ago, and that’s the one you’re on now.
At times it’s a very sad path, but most times it’s not as painful.
The previous paths have been difficult because you’ve watched them suffer.
It’s far easier to tolerate our own suffering than it is of the ones we love……
“For me, it is a tangible point of communication, a visible portal to somewhere I’ve never been…” I like this.
you write beautifully in your fathers memory, for the last few years I have been visiting your words and journeying through your memories of him… I am blessed to have known him through your words…
there are many times when I go to the cemetery to visit my father and I do not know what to expect… sometimes I cry, often times I just sit there, all alone and wait. for what, I do not know… maybe one day I will realize it is “a tangible point of communication, a visible portal to somewhere I have never been…” maybe someday I will see… for now I just send my blessings once more to you and your heart
There will be many times that I will visit the cemetery with you but I had to let you go alone on that day .
You needed the space to cry , to reflect, and to pray on your own.
Life has changed for our family once again.We feel empty and sad but we will go on living, raising our daughters and dealing with what life hands us, both happy and sad.
We have to remember that life has changed for them, it has not ended. That is what has been promised.It is what they believed and it is what we believe.
Each man’s death diminishes me,
For I am involved in mankind
Therefore, send not to know
For whom the bell tolls,
It tolls for thee
- John Donne