My note - apologies for the lateness in this installment of the The Grieving Room series. DKos server issues and a family celebration have bumped out this posting. For those of you who are reading so late, thank you.
I should have gone to the cemetery today. I should have gone. In past years, I've made a point to go to the Evergreen-Washelli cemetery in North Seattle on at least one day of the Memorial weekend when I've been in town. It's a tradition I carry forward when I can, though I hold no special regard for cemeteries and graves. They hold the remains of bodies, not spirits, not the lights of the souls of people I loved. They hold the memory of a gentle touch of a hand on a grieving, bowed shoulder, the faded and musty scent of funereal blood red roses, incongruously beautiful sprays of flowers draped on the boxes that hold my dead.
| These boxes in the earth do not hold what I want. Spirit, memory, the remembered essence of a longed-for presence; this is in my heart as my memorial. Boxes hold bones and bones are nothing to me.
|
I should have gone today. I've carried forward the tradition for my mother, who held it as a special day, and when I was young, we would invariably make the trip to Seattle from Oregon on Memorial Day when we could, to place flowers at the graves of my dad, my brother, my sister, aunts and uncles, my nephew, my cousins. Scattered throughout the green cemetery, low mounds of stone markers with names etched and emphasized in family history and embellished tales; these stone markers are not a bookmark of time for me, but they were for my mother. Now my mother and yet another sister lie there. I should have gone today for her. I should have gone today for both of them.
I should have gone to see the recently turned earth over the grave of my sister, dead now these last four weeks and two days. Has the scar in the grass healed, has the bump of turf flattened yet? Have the flowers been taken away? What would I see if I stand there, gazing down? Will I see those last few desperately dragging, failing days of tortured breath, of glazed eyes, of hazy recognition and then dim cognition, and then, finally, silence? Would that I could see her smile again.
I should have gone today to see the war memorial and the military markers on the east side of Aurora Avenue, just over the rise from my sister's grave. I've walked those stones, those worthless white stones, so many times. I always think of my uncle, who died so young at Normandy, a month after D-Day, the day after the day that would become my birthday some fourteen years later. I see in my mind the designations of the dead, the Pfcs, the Sgts, the Majs, the dates, the white fading to lichen, the white that was once so clean. Are military stones white to wipe the stain of death away? Do we use white to erase the pain? The stones appear like so many grinding, grinning teeth on a hill. I've walked these graves in the past many times and I see a smiling face for every marker placed. I mourn, I grieve for the families, near and far away now in time, who once basked in the glowing smile of a life destroyed by war. War is death. Surely there is no color white in the red of war.
I should have gone today, but I'm angry, and if I grieve at graves with anger, it does no honor to the dead. I'm angry that thousands of families grieve because of the actions of a misbegotten administration, angry because of the actions of so many stupid, grasping, greedy men, who see war as the advancement of a policy doomed for failure from the start. I'm too angry at death, today, too angry at men who play with death.
I should have gone today, but I thought of Nick. Nick in Iraq, my son-in-law, who has so much to do and is so young, just 21 and on his second tour. I cannot think of white stones now.
I should have gone today, but I didn't. My people, my family, my loves, walk in memory and spirit and live and breath, and are not bones in the ground. I remember.
This is my Memorial Day.
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(Note from The Grieving Room host Dem in the Heart of Texas For those who have missed this over the last several Monday evenings, this is a weekly forum (with rotating hosts) for whoever happens by and wants to discuss issues relating to grief, death, loss, or impending loss. Share your story, or read and cry - use it for what it's worth to you. Giving it a Rec each week will help keep it where more people can see it and perhaps find some comfort. Thanks.)
Links to previous weeks series diaries:
May 21, 2007 - The Grieving Room - when does one heal?
May 14, 2007 - The Grieving Room - a Monday night series
May 7, 2007 - The Grieving Room - a Monday night series
Apr 30, 2007 – The Grieving Room - a Monday night series
Apr 23, 2007 - The Grieving Room – Paso Doble
Apr 16, 2007 - The Grieving Room - a weekly support diary
Thank you for reading The Grieving Room this evening. If anyone would like to volunteer for a future Monday, please drop a line to smnytx@yahoo.com.