It has felt as though death's sting has been close by lately. And although it no longer leaves it's poison in me -- to fester and agitate (as it did when Gene Dalton passed away), it still stings.
Nov. 21st, the grandfather of one of my PHS classmates died. He had lived a good, long life. But as I thought of the children, grandchildren, and friends left behind, somehow a familiar feeling of death's injustice returned briefly. Maybe it is the recollection of things and relationships that have been changed by time's passing, more than the person's passing --that bites.
Monday was a "blue-sky" day. When I lived in London, a lifetime ago, I counted every day that showed even a glimpse of blue behind the frequent grey clouds. I called them "blue-sky days." It seemed fake that my calendar read December 1st. It was so warm, the scenery was so sharp and clear, that I found myself trying to place it (like I do with a melody or actor's face in a movie). What did it remind me of? As I drove up the hill and turned the corner, I realized it was an "Autumn Dixie day." The colors of the air, grass, and sky matched the mental file I've created for my childhood St. George Thanksgiving pilgrimages. All of the memories are blurred together: the huge tree in her back yard, the coffee table with Uno cards, the Almond Roca hidden (not well enough) in the back porch pantry. The smell of warm food, her piano, hiking with Wells cousins, visiting Uncle Scott's Vet clinic just through the yard --all of it--now gone--passed. And Grandma. She has passed as well. All of a sudden, I missed her terribly.
Tuesday I opened my email inbox and saw from Jed: "Elder Wirthlin ." I knew that it was Joseph Wirthlin's turn. I dutifully, almost reverently, pressed the link and saw his face. He'd lived, much like Elder Haight, I'm guessing, a more simple life than I would. I mourned some for the passing of a tech-free world. I pretend it is more possible to be a focused disciple without those distractions.
Wednesday there is a note from my Mother -- continents removed, informing her children that her Grandview neighbor had died that morning. My mind wandered to Sheldon's presence at summer picnics, Sunday dinners, piano recitals, and the family gathering where we opened my parent's mission call. Tears came easily to Sheldon. He was a man full of spirit and passion, and was given a life-long calling: to care for a troubled wife. When he was able to get away for a few minutes we used to see him roaming the perimeter of the hill, by himself, with a bag full of other people's litter he'd retrieved. He magnified his calling and endured well.
On the day Grandma was buried, I looked around at the relatives gathered in the St. George cemetery. My father's white head was bowed, --with respect, reverence, perhaps with the weight of responsibility of being a patriarch. We marked a milestone that day. The baton had been passed. We were now the torch bearers. As adults, we would need to be determined disciples of Christ...or not.
All of my grandparents, Uncle Scott, Pres. Faust, Gene Dalton, Aunt Millie, Elder Maxwell, Pres. Hinckley, Elder Haight, Bro. Evans, Elder Wirthlin, Sheldon Nicholaysen... They are all now free from "earth-stains."
Where will I find joy in the present before it has passed?
6 comments:
Such great thoughts. I sure hope my name could one day be added among so many greats as you have listed there. I'm sure they're all enjoying each others' company now. Stain-free.
Yeah, but Jayne.... I thought I've made it clear that you can't go before me...that's just not allowed.
I think about that too with all the ancestor stories--how they're rejoicing as everyone comes home while we mourn the loss. It's like a ship sailing across a lake--we're sad to say goodbye, but on the other side they're excited to greet the newcomer.
this is just too lovely to stain with my comment.
These ones get me Rep.
Having now come back to this a third time, I will venture a comment on the question you pose at the end.
Seems to me, as I read your blog, and whenever I hear your stories on the phone (granted, that's on the rare side given your phone issues) that finding joy is one of your gifts. You find a whole lot of it in the present. Maybe even more in the very recent past...when you've had a moment to reflect--but that's pretty darn close to the present. And you find plenty more in the little-bit-more-distant past. Yeah, I'd say you're pretty good at both finding joy and expressing it. I think it's a gift.
I also think you are capable of feeling deep sadness and pain. And loss. And grief....And peace. And a whole lot of other incredibly rich feelings. And I think that's part of the overall joy. You are living large Reppity. You have a way of experiencing that is closer to a fullness than most. I think its that kind of full register that so appeals to me in the idea of "sucking the marrow out of life and not, when it comes time to die, find that I had not lived"--or however Thoreau put it.
I think its a gift Rep. I think its all part of the joy. I think you are finding it.
Thank you for creating such a beautiful tribute, the kind I dare not attempt. I agree with Greg and I'm so grateful to enjoy the fruits of your gift.
Post a Comment