Day is Done

It seems somehow appropriate to write this blog post on Good Friday, a day of mourning but looking to the future Light. Last week, my husband and I went out to Ohio for my brother's Celebration of Life, and for the party at the house after that. There was much planning involved - a eulogy to write, a dress to buy, a wreath to make for my sister-in-law that would celebrate the Resurrection as well as Easter and would also memorialize my deceased brother. Deceased. What a final word. Many members of my mother's side of the family, cousins now (all the aunts and uncles are long gone), gathered at my brother's house the night before to visit with his wife and sons. It was a good gathering. Some of the cousins haven't seen each other since my mother's burial of ashes in NE Ohio two and a half years ago. My brother is now the second of the group of cousins to depart this Earth. The next morning, my husband and I headed out early to the funeral home to help set up the display of my brother's favorite and/or daily items: His helmet from Vietnam. His dog tags. Several SeaBee caps. The trophy and lifetime achievement awards from his place of business. His laptop. His lunch cooler. His travel mug. The only thing missing was Jim. Soon after the final touches were put on the photo displays and the two black-draped tables of his stuff, visitors began to file in. And file in. And file in. The ushers had to keep adding chairs, open up the doors, and find ways to expand space for all the people who came to say goodbye to their co-worker, their buddy, their friend. I had practiced my eulogy five times so that I could get through it without crying. I made it to the last line...but my dear nephews, his three sons, could not hold in their grief. My brother was a beloved father, husband, son, brother, uncle, cousin...The music, flowers, and speakers were all beautiful. And then came the full military honors. I had never seen this ceremony in its fullness prior to my brother's Celebration of Life. It involved an Honor Guard in dress blues (Navy), an officer in dress white, and a chaplain in fatigues. They unfolded the flag that sat on the table with my brother's ashes, held it up (it was very large), and out in the parking lot, three rifles fired three volleys. Someone played Taps on a bugle. At that point I just broke down. As I wrote in my eulogy, "As one of your sons remarked to me recently, you left a part of yourself there. The boy had become a man, the man went to war, and the man came home, a wounded warrior. It took years for you to process all that you had experienced there, and you processed it right up to the very end of your life." After the final notes of Taps died away outside, the honor guard refolded the flag, ceremoniously presented it to the officer, who knelt on one knee and presented both the flag and the shell casings of the spent rounds to my sister-in-law. It was the most moving tribute I have ever seen. The whole ceremony and service lasted 90 minutes. After that, we all piled into our cars and headed back to my brother's house for the party...a true Irish wake. Memories were shared; kegs were tapped, tons of City Barbecue were eaten. And all around the house were photos, memorabilia, the beautiful flowers, the many cards and tributes to a life well-lived. The wreath I made for my sister-in-law was among the display items at the Celebration, and now hangs on her door at home. I chose to make the wreath for her as a quiet symbol of eternity - the circle, with purple ribbons for Easter, for the Resurrection. My brother's body is gone now, but his spirit remains...perhaps with us for a time, perhaps already gone to Heaven to take care of his long-gone dog, Sage (which is what his four-year-old granddaughter was told.) I'll end this with the final words of my eulogy for Jim: "We love you, brother. I hope that as you enter now into the Lord’s Army, you lay down your arms, and enter into an embrace with God the Father and find comfort and peace, freedom from pain, freedom from sickness, freedom from sorrow. God is the ultimate Healer, and you are now in the deep, eternal embrace of the Savior. Rest well, my brother. We will see you in the great Bye and Bye."

I Remember Mama

December 7th is a major remembrance day, not only for me personally, but also for our country. It marks the 75th anniversary of Pearl Harbor Day. Eight battleships, three cruisers, three destroyers, and 188 US aircraft were destroyed. In all, 2403 Americans were killed and 1178 were wounded. It was a horrific loss. For me personally, the day marks many remembrances. 41 years ago on that date, I married my first husband. 38 years ago on December 7th, we moved our very young family to New York from southern Ohio. Two years ago on December 7th, my mother passed away while my husband and I were on the Danube in Vienna, beginning a river cruise of Austria. And tomorrow, December 7th, my husband and I are headed back to Ohio, to spend time with my brother who is not well. Tonight I performed a ritual of remembrance, starting with the sewing of Christmas gifts that I can't mention (brothers might be reading this), and ending with baking the cookies my mother used to make for us so many years ago. While I sewed away, dropping bobbins and jamming threads and scaring the cat with my rather loud commentary on the art of sewing, memories of home flooded back...There were four of us kids, our parents, and our grandmother (and another orange tabby cat) in the house. It was full of color and light, especially at this time of year. Flash back to the future: both parents are gone, Grandma is long gone, and the four of us "kids" (ages 72, 68, 66, and 60) are scattered to the four winds. But tomorrow we will load up the car with homemade gifts, homemade cookies, a cooler full of fruits and cheeses, and a blizzard bag (you never know, driving across the Great Lakes states) to our destination, my middle older brother's house in Columbus, Ohio. Some of us kids will be together again for a few days. Of course, the great wheel of time has rolled around, and we are now the grandparents, we are the oldest generation. We'll sit in the kitchen, with nieces and nephews and one grandniece, plus the brothers and their wives, and catch up. And remember Christmases of long ago, and remember those who have come before and are now passed away. Enough time has passed that I can remember Mama in the kitchen at this time of year without tears in my eyes (mostly). Two years ago, she was 96 and in relatively good health and mind, so my husband and I felt OK about taking a "Christmas on the Danube" tour. The first day we spent in Vienna, sampling a Kristkindlemarket and preparing for our voyage down the famed river. That first night, I couldn't sleep. As the boat began its nighttime voyage, sleep would not come. I stood at our large window and watched the river and the locks in the darkness as we passed through them. In my mind, I could hear strands of the beautiful Strauss waltz, "The Blue Danube." I imagined my parents waltzing to that music, which they both loved (my father was a fine dancer.) When I finally went back to bed to try to sleep, there was a knock on the door...back in New York, my dear mother had passed, just as the strands of Strauss faded away in my memory there in Austria. It was December 7th, that fateful date that has held so much loss for so many. There is so much to remember on this date. I remember Mama.