I am sitting here at the computer, bundled up in my fuzzy robe and a down throw trying to get warm at 5:40 in the morning. The heater won’t come on for another 45 minutes and the house is cold.
I am also trying to find a warm place inside my self. Some place of comfort and peace and calm. Some familiar mantra to say that will help me find my balance again. Why am I off balance ? Because Frank is not in the world any more, that’s why.
We all have a circle of people that help us define our lives, that are part of our history. They are the touchstones of the journeys we have been on, the history of our experiences in this world. We are all so interconnected in this way that when one of those touchstones is removed, our circle is unbalanced and incomplete. And it takes time for us to repair that place so that we can move on without the painful reminder that one of us is missing. A voice we are used to hearing is silent. A point of view we needed to help us figure out the world is unavailable now, and how will we be able to understand the next curve ball that life might throw at us without the familiar presence of one who we used to consult on such days? That person may be the only other witness to events in our lives. Now we are the sole keeper of a memory. And we must tell the story true, without their help.
The complexity of our connection to one another is a mysterious thing. It reminds me of a time once when someone cut down a huge tree that stood next to a sidewalk where I walked almost every day. I didn’t know they were going to cut it and didn’t witness it’s removal so when I came up the hill where it used to stand, suddenly I was confused, lost and disoriented in a most familiar place. What was wrong ? What was missing ? I was so used to that landmark that I could not even recognize that place without it, and yet for some moments could not identify what was gone. From then on I had to choose new landmarks to help me find my way.
That is what I am trying to do on this cold dark morning. I am trying to understand what it meant for him to be in the world, somewhere in the world. Even if I didn’t see him every day, or even every year, I knew he WAS. Holding his place in the grand scheme of my life and the lives of others. He held a larger place for those who saw him often and his absence will be more acutely felt. But even I, so far away in space and time have to rearrange my touchstones, or perhaps create a special spot where he used to be and make a remembrance place. A place where I will put all my memories and stories and history and call it Frankie, the father of my firstborn son.
The boy that made me laugh, the one that used to stand by the heaters in the halls of the high school and watch the girls go by. The one who used to lead the marching band through the streets of downtown Etna. (What a sight he was to behold!)
The one who one day asked me how I was and I said, “Fine.” And he said, “You sure are!” The one who I never really knew, because he was so private. I think he even kept secrets from himself. The one who my son looks so much like that everyone can see it. The one who even when he was dying and in pain, made me laugh. I never became immune to his wry sense of humor, no matter how life battered us about and changed our relationship. It was his gift, and he used it well.
Here, memories, stand right here. Make this circle work again, make it roll smoothly once more. Fill this spot, hold this place, so that we all can keep moving, so that we all can find the courage to continue on our journey. One by one we will come and place a memory, just so, right here. We will keep your place filled with all we knew of you, until this world is transformed. Until all her sparks of light are gathered together again. Then we will tell our stories, and not one will be missing, not one will be left behind. And oh, how we will laugh, oh how we will rejoice together on that day !