Memories of Weeks Past: Part One

"Love is as strong as death..."
-Eckhart von Hocheim, or Meister Eckhart

***

On "Laundry Day," I tend to dress up. All the reasonable clothing usually needs to be cleaned, so, I looked through my available garments and put on my sea foam green skirt and my favorite white and pink lucy T-Shirt. I needed to pick up a few things on my way to Anya's place, so, I drove out to the Fresh Market. I enjoy this particular grocery, and I tend to amble, to wander, to smell and gaze at all the marvelous fruits, veggies, baked goods, etc.

I came across the condiments and such... and when my gaze fell on a certain display basket, my eyes started to well up with tears. Mister John used to bring me those same large pre-made packages of sugar for my coffee... for that one horrible year, he tried what he could to keep it sweet. It's been less than a year since he died... but his presence is still greatly missed.

Then I decided on a whim to visit the Coffee Beanery in the same strip. I haven't been there since I attended the Lutheran Church on Jamestown Road... my last visit was a year and a half ago. I had a craving for an Iced Fudge Ripple. I walked in and passed the older people who have time to sit in a coffeehouse at 12:30 on a weekday. When I reached the counter, a young man greeted me.

"Is that an origami crane you're wearing on your necklace?" he asked me.

"Well, yes it is," I said... and not knowing where to go from there, I eyed the large silver pendant hanging from his neck. "And you're wearing an 'Om.'"

"Yes, I am," he grinned and added in a cheeky lilt, "Gee- looks like we know how to identify shapes."

I had to agree. This whole exchange was sort of silly. "I'm a yoga teacher, so, I don't see them often," I added guiltily.

"People ask me all the time why I wear the number 30, teasing me that I don't look 30."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

It was like we had been friends for years.

These two tiny incidences seemed like signs (I know... that's rich coming from the girl who doesn't know if she believes in Gd). There were stories that I needed to share.

***

On March 18th, a dear old woman passed on in her sleep. My dear mother-in-law, Joyce, had lost her 93 year old mother, Pearl.

We flew out to Michigan on a Saturday night and met with most of the family. I saw faces swollen with tired eyes all over the room. This typically rowdy, lively group had turned the volume down significantly. However, laughter was not completely absent. After I helped Joyce clean up her kitchen, I was shown Grandma Pearl's great gift to her children and grandchildren.

Grandma Pearl had some time to consider her passing, so she thoughtfully collected all the cards and letters her family had sent her over the years and placed them all in individualized envelopes. Some of the grown children shared with us the contents, the memories, the stories attached to the mementos. It was a quiet, but warm celebration of Grandma Pearl's life, of how much she meant to everyone.

The next morning we drove out to the funeral. Not a dry eye in the house. So much choking emotion infected everyone. For those who wished to see her, the casket was open behind a curtain. We walked back to say, "Goodbye." It seemed like the coffin was approaching us faster than our feet could carry us towards it. It's always a strange thought, looking at a body emptied of its soul... I couldn't help but wonder if she was going to sit up and tell us to stop crying. She just looked like she was sleeping.

The service seemed short... but that might have been because I was so caught up in the eulogies. Joyce was first to speak... the youngest of Pearl's three children. Of the many moving things she mentioned in her eloquent speech, the idea that stuck with me was the notion of time. She said that most people, upon hearing that Grandma Pearl was 93 when she died, all said things like, "She lived a full life," or "At least you had so much time with her." Joyce relayed, in a more touching way than I can say here, that 93 years just wasn't enough with her mom. The eldest grandson echoed her sentiments.

I so very much admire the Jewish rituals surrounding the death of a loved one. There are few simple tasks that are done when someone dies. I can remember when my mother's mother died, a lot of what made it harder than the mere loss of a dear woman was not knowing what to do with myself. My grandmother donated her body to science, so, even at the memorial, there was no part of her in the room. No pictures, no urn of ashes, nothing. Not even in gathering those sorts of things, of visiting her coffin, could we just "do something" to help us move forward.

In the Jewish tradition, one family member elects to host "shiva," or, to open their home every night for a week for the mourners. The community brings food and offers condolences. The family takes some time off to go through the motions together.

But, that takes place after the funeral. Immediately after the service, everyone goes to the graveyard together for the ritual that strikes with the most potent sting...

Typically, Jewish people are buried. After the coffin is lowered into the ground, everyone who chooses takes a turn shoveling dirt into the grave. The sound of the earth hitting the wood of the coffin is so... final. So loud. What makes it brilliant, to me, is that one participates in putting that person to rest. Everyone takes responsibility for letting him or her go.

It was so sad. Not just because we were surrounded by heartache...

We learned that, in the obituary, David and I were listed among Grandma Pearl's many grandchildren. This family has accepted us unblinkingly... we are one of them from here on out. They see us twice a year, if we're lucky, but we're family. I began to feel like I had lost a grandmother, too. I'd seen her three times in the past two years, but, I was her grandchild, and, while throwing dirt on her coffin, I felt the hollow spot in my heart that would always miss her and all that I would now never have the chance to know.

***

On March 2nd, a boy I knew in high school took it upon himself to ride a bus into the heart of San Fransisco, and jumped from the Golden Gate Bridge.

I didn't learn about this until April 16th. The funeral was to be the next evening. A precious voice from my past, who will never be completely silenced, gave me the news and asked if I would be willing to go to the service.

I ended up feeling relieved that I went. Our friend had only three representatives of his generation, of those that might know who he was in the world, not as a son, brother, or uncle. The mother sat with her daughter, son-in-law, and grandchildren... the father sat in the pew behind her with his wife. That precious voice from my past... we'll call him E... we sat alone in the third pew with a slightly obstructed view of the table where our friend's ashes and photos were placed.

I cannot express how horrible this experience was...

E was asked to deliver the eulogy. He wrote furiously in his pocket notebook during the first ten minutes. The service started with a recording of John Lennon's "Beautiful Boy," followed by several lip-service prayers recited by the kindly lady pastor... who clearly didn't know our friend well. I tried warning E about how many prayers or hymns he had left to compose his thoughts. As he was introduced, I squeezed his hand and he left the pew to take his place behind the pulpit.

I did not envy him.

He hadn't seen his friend in some time... had lost a little of their contact in recent months. He carried that heavy, hard guilt of wondering if there was something he could have said or done... what if he had checked his Facebook page the day before... or called him... or anything? Would this unthinkable, waste of life have still occurred?

I was immensely proud of his speech. He talked about what his friend had meant to him, of course... How much this young man had contributed to his life... but, he also made a point to express that, as far as we know, life is not eternal, and our friend knew that. So, if that friend were here to express any last words of advice, E was sure that he would tell us all to let go of our resentments and bad blood. It's not worth it. Our time is limited, so, we need to make the best of it and take care of each other.

I have almost never seen E shake so much. I began to feel horrible. I haven't seen our late friend for... well... maybe 10 years. Wonder how he would feel to know that I was among the mourners at his memorial service... that even someone who hasn't seen him in so long would wish that he had walked away from the ledge. That people in his family, divided by more than pews, would all have so much love that belonged entirely to him... that they might take his advice. At the end of the service, the mother turned to her ex-husband and said, "Thank you for giving me our son."

E and I sighed together... trying not to lose it. After 6 years, we fell into place with no effort, no negotiation. It was as though no time had passed.

I had a chance to think about it more the next day... E and I explained away our friend's reasons for doing what he did... maybe in an attempt to make it okay...

...but it's not okay.

I've decided I'm downright pissed off.

I do not recommend speaking ill of dead, but this did not have to happen. There was nothing wrong with him that there wasn't enough love in that room alone to help him through it. While I hope he's at peace, I also hope that I'll have a chance to slap him on the Other Side... to demand an answer for why he would do this to all of us... to reinforce to him that he was special to someone.

***

So much unexpected sadness.

***

Dedicated in loving memory
to
Grandma Pearl
and
Seanny