I am back in Santa Maria, California for the final rituals of my sister’s passing. Tonight was the Rosary service, which did not include the rosary, but was replaced by a repeating piece of music for each of the Rosary beads. It has been a long time since I attended a Rosary. A good 50 years, I would guess. I appreciated the deacon’s presence and his words, and the efforts of the small choir singing their repetitive rosary-like refrain. And, I am certain my sister would have approved. So good. The people who attended mostly stopped to introduce themselves. To say hi and express their condolences. And I was glad to be there. And I was glad when it was over. And I was in tears laying my hands on my sister’s coffin. And I paid attention to where the stress was, which was mostly in my belly, I think.
And as I noticed that I remembered that as a young child, the stress lay mostly in my head, between my eyes. When all hell would break loose in my house, I would run for the space in the tiny desk in the living room. My head would still be throbbing. Sometimes my head hurt so much that I could see stars, and when that happened I knew that I needed to get to that place and find the magic spot on the left-hand side of my refuge. The magic place is a knot in the wood and the grain of the wood swirls around it in the most beautiful way. It is the bender. When I touch it, I can bend the story of what just happened, no matter what it is, I can bend the story to turn out OK, which it needs to be. I bend what happened in such a way that I can keep myself safe. At least that is my hope. Anyway, I try as hard as I can. I have already begun to wear a smooth area into the wood around the knot. I love the knot and I put my finger on the bender hard and feel the solid wood begin to actually move around the problem and I can finally see things how things should be. And then after a while, my finger is numb and my head stops throbbing stars and I fall asleep in the safe cavern of the desk. And I dream.
I remember this as I am sitting in my sister’s rosary this evening, and there is no throbbing, no stars, just gratitude that people care about this stuff. There is some unsettled rumbling in my belly, but that is to be expected. I am grateful that people care about her, about Pat, who was a devoted Catholic if there ever was one.
God knows that I am not one, but She is my friend now and we are both happy that Pat has been released from the physical suffering of being almost 92 years old. Sitting in her house surrounded by unending religious paraphernalia, I am remembering not how devoted she was, but what a great laugher she was. Her laugh was better than a desk to hide under. God bless you Pat. What will I do without your laugh? And as I remember her laugh, my belly begins to calm down.
Good night. Tomorrow is the Mass
— DanielSouthGate
And as I noticed that I remembered that as a young child, the stress lay mostly in my head, between my eyes. When all hell would break loose in my house, I would run for the space in the tiny desk in the living room. My head would still be throbbing. Sometimes my head hurt so much that I could see stars, and when that happened I knew that I needed to get to that place and find the magic spot on the left-hand side of my refuge. The magic place is a knot in the wood and the grain of the wood swirls around it in the most beautiful way. It is the bender. When I touch it, I can bend the story of what just happened, no matter what it is, I can bend the story to turn out OK, which it needs to be. I bend what happened in such a way that I can keep myself safe. At least that is my hope. Anyway, I try as hard as I can. I have already begun to wear a smooth area into the wood around the knot. I love the knot and I put my finger on the bender hard and feel the solid wood begin to actually move around the problem and I can finally see things how things should be. And then after a while, my finger is numb and my head stops throbbing stars and I fall asleep in the safe cavern of the desk. And I dream.
I remember this as I am sitting in my sister’s rosary this evening, and there is no throbbing, no stars, just gratitude that people care about this stuff. There is some unsettled rumbling in my belly, but that is to be expected. I am grateful that people care about her, about Pat, who was a devoted Catholic if there ever was one.
God knows that I am not one, but She is my friend now and we are both happy that Pat has been released from the physical suffering of being almost 92 years old. Sitting in her house surrounded by unending religious paraphernalia, I am remembering not how devoted she was, but what a great laugher she was. Her laugh was better than a desk to hide under. God bless you Pat. What will I do without your laugh? And as I remember her laugh, my belly begins to calm down.
Good night. Tomorrow is the Mass
— DanielSouthGate
It is astounding how resourceful children can be! What an amazing solution you found under the desk! I really feel for the child that was you, but I also admire him. This is so of the moment, overall, this report from the emotional front. You are brave and you are wise and you are a writer. (Macoff)
ReplyDeleteAnd you are so kind leaving these blessings for each of us while you weave your wonderful characters and stories. Would love to have coffee with you sometime.
DeleteYour writing is beautiful.
ReplyDeleteHow resourceful as a child to have found a safe place and a small ritual to make the story turn out okay. How fortuitous to be back there as you are present to your sister's leave-taking within rituals that were hers. I hope today will be okay for you and for all who loved your sister.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Marmar! It was a full day today.
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