Mine has been a little all over the place. I've been mulling over what to write for this week's post, and while I've come up with some nifty ideas, they haven't been anything I've really wanted to talk about.
As fair warning: What I am going to write about might be triggery, as I will be talking about death. I apologize in advance if this is too sensitive a topic to read. Anyone who would prefer to not go any further, I completely understand. I just need to get this out.
To be honest- last Friday really knocked me over.
It was July 29th. That's a date that stands out in my memory for many reasons both good and bad. The good reasons being that Gala Darling got married! (!!!), and also a friend of mine was born on that day few (48) years ago.
It also happens to be the day that I lost someone very dear to me and a lot of other people.
Last Friday I went up to the cemetery to visit his grave and leave a token like I've done almost every year. I'd expected to be the only person there since it was such a hot, sticky summer night, but when I was making my way towards where he was buried I heard another car barreling down the drive.
The person driving the car knew exactly where to go, as if drawn to by a magnet. I got a glimpse of a petite, blond woman behind the wheel. She came to a stop, parked the car, and walked tranced like toward her son.
While it's been fourteen years since he passed away, there are still times like this where memory and grief know just how to f*ck with your day. (Sorry, there's just no other way to say it.)
Seeing his mom there was about the hardest thing I've dealt with in a really long time. I didn't approach her for a few minutes out of respect. Eventually I walked up beside her and put my token on his tombstone. We hugged, we cried, we talked, we stood in awkward silence. We remembered.
She said that the one thing she had hoped was that people would remember her son and all the good moments shared with him. I assured her that plenty of people still did before I hugged her goodbye.
Sometimes the hardest part is being the one who remembers.
Remembering is not all bad, however. Especially when there are so many things worth remembering. Not just the bits that make you cry, but the parts where you just about bust a gut from laughing so hard. The times where there was sincere tenderness and complete vulnerability. The sweet, raw, "Here it is" words that echo from the deeper place.
Those are the things that nurture and sustain.