Exit

We all have a creative area in the brain that speaks to us when we are moved or troubled or just full of great ideas waiting to be expressed. My creative time often happens very early in the morning when I’m half asleep. My thoughts tumble out in sentences almost, meant for a written page. I don’t write everything that filters through, but often it is about something recently experienced and high in my subconscious mind.

I have been grieving for some time now over the loss of friendships that I held very dear, and the death recently of two family members. One was an expected passing and the other just came out of the blue.

My mother – in -law who was 98, was ready to leave this world. As far as deaths go, she had a peaceful passing and was able to say goodbye to close family members before she breathed her last. I was at her bedside when she left us. In sharp contrast, my own mother died in Singapore [in 1984] on December 21, just one day before my mother – in – law passed, but separated by 30 years. I was thousands of miles away and did not have an opportunity to say goodbye to her or even to attend her funeral. On my trips home, I would invariably be expecting her to show up somehow.

The rituals that go along with a death are for the living. They comfort us in our time of sorrow and help us realize the finality and irreversibility of this passage. There is a camaraderie of the living that helps us get through these times. When a death is unexpected as in the case of our nephew in law, cut down in his prime at age 37, this fellowship becomes more critical. More than 1,100 people attended his funeral, a testimony to the impact that he had on the lives of so many others. There were many, many tears and as we dry them we can find consolation in these poignant and beautiful words by poet Mary Elizabeth Frye.

Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep

Do not stand at my grave and weep

I am not there. I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow.

I am the diamond glints on snow.

I am the sunlight on ripened grain.

I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awaken in the morning’s hush

I am the swift uplifting rush

Of quiet birds in circled flight.

I am the soft stars that shine at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry;

I am not there. I did not die.