Buried Treasures

A couple of weeks back I was having a conversation with my husband and somehow it turned to the topic of our parents. I found myself speaking aloud the truth: "Someday, we are going to have to bury our parents..." but I quickly pushed it aside and out of the conversation because it made me feel so uncomfortable. UNCOMFORTABLE, really, Jamie?!? You have buried three of your children and the thought of burying your Mom or Dad makes you uncomfortable? That isn't even the word for it.

When we buried our Hope, I felt like we were burying hope itself. I felt as if we were burying information. How would his birth have gone? Why didn't he survive? What would this child be like, who would he look like, how would the other children love him? When we buried Gracelyn and Finn, it was like burying dreams. Dreams of daughters in little white dresses, the sound of their laughter, the warmth of their smiles. What would raising twins be like? Could I die of sleep deprivation times two? So many experiences I dreamed of, but they were not to be in this lifetime. Yes, it was painful, it remains painful, but still different. 

My thoughts are that when I have to bury my Mom or Dad or a sibling, I will have to bury the body of someone I have known and loved for my WHOLE life, their whole life. That is a lot of time, memories and moments embodied in the face, voice and touch of someone I love. It is not the end, I know, more the beginning of a separation, a longing. And since we know not how long life will be or how soon we will be reunited, the mystery of that timetable causes our souls to weep, to mourn. And that is normal. I do know this truth : Every life is exactly the right length for every soul.

Although I do at times, I try not to say "I lost my son"  or " I lost my daughters" because when something is 'lost' it implies it needs to be found, recovered, searched for. I know where my children are and I have  found peace with that knowledge. However, when I say farewell to my Mom or Dad or my sister or brother I think I will find myself using the word 'lost' because I know no other word for the feelings of having someone I hold so dear here in the present gone from here for a time. I cannot see their face, I cannot send a letter, I cannot make a call, I cannot hear their laughter, but it is only for a time. 

Try this: think of the sound the front door makes in the home you grew up in. You can hear it, can't you? You don't have to be there to experience that sound. It is etched so deeply into your memory that it would be hard to erase. Now, think of all that is held behind that door for good or for bad. It's there isn't it. And there are the images of those you shared that home with, the sounds, the smells, the memories, the emotions. All right there in your memory and in your heart. So if that home was gone, destroyed, burnt down, lost in a natural disaster, whatever, would it erase all of that? Would it be 'lost'? I don't believe so, and that is pretty much the same way I think about those who have gone on ahead. What we had with them is not over; they live on, both here and there. Although saying goodbye is so extremely hard, I know it is not forever and that truth can, in time, be enough to get me through the here and now.