42 Years Ago ...
We were on a camping trip in North Georgia.
My Dad had a massive heart attack and died.
I was ten (almost) years old.
I always take Memorial Day (when I can)
and put it aside
spending it by myself
doing quiet things
drawing
listening to quiet music
... just ... letting the day ... happen.
Not sad.
Not ... mourning.
Just ... neutral
in acceptance with an unavoidable part of life.
It took forty years
to purge the rage
at a thing called 'God'
who went around
murdering little girls' Daddies
and leaving them unprotected
with an abusive mother.
But the anger is gone now.
Today, however
I found myself
thinking about the family of the woman
down the street from Laurie
about her children
feeling a kind of kinship with them
for we had someone we loved
with the love of a child
taken from us
near this particular holiday.
I prayed for them
lit an incense for them.
Then I went across the hall
and talked to the woman
who all the 'incident' happened with.
I brought her some bags of tea
and left her with an invitation
to come over whenever her apt got scary
or she just needed to hang out.
I feel better after talking to her
and was able to passively listen
to her bravadospeak
because another time
it was me.
I wanted to send along positive and comforting thoughts
for those today
who might be thinking about someone
who has passed away
and for those who have served
in our Armed Forces
and paid the Ultimate Price.
And for those
who have loved them.
War is war.
Whether across an ocean
or in our very living room.
In one way or another
we are all survivors.
Tonight we go to bed
we sleep
we dream
and maybe
just maybe -
we pay a small visit.
And say hello.
I have to think that way.
I don't believe it can happen.
I know it does.
Blessings on all our houses this holiday.