It is here that the ghost of my dog waits for me. All the years spent walking and exploring. What was so joyful then is now a holding place, as she looks for me, and yearns for me. All the while I reminisce, longingly, desperately, lovingly.
Friends, my sweet angel of a dog passed on October 26, just 5 days shy of her 12th birthday. Judy and I have been grieving since, and while we know time will soften this loss, Pumpkin will always live in our home and in our hearts.
There will come a time when I write a story about her, explaining in more detail who she was and what she meant to us, but that time is not yet. Thank you all for caring.
Graveyards are interesting places. In addition to the real sense of respect and sadness, sometimes there are headstones that are full of intrigue.
Red Souther was three years older than his bride, Grace. I would speculate that they married at about age 25 and 22, meaning they were married for 54 years. But it is the dates of their death that creates the mystery here. They died just 15 days apart and one wonders why. Was it something violent like a car accident, an illness they both shared, or something very poignant, like a broken heart. It happens with some frequency, that life partners cannot live without each other, and one death is quickly followed by the other, whose grief is overwhelming. Together forever, rest in peace, Red and Grace.
Grief does not discriminate. It can be seen in the face of angry fathers who carry young sons just killed in senseless wars. It can be seen in those who feel dead when abandoned or abused. And sometimes it can take the form of deep empathy felt by an aging stranger who happens upon a small town cemetery and imagines the intense pain felt by this family, so long ago.
© 2012 Michael Fiveson
It was a three minute conversation on a stairwell that turned me inside out and brought tears to my eyes.
We were both volunteers at a local elementary school and I stepped out of my room to stretch my back as he was approaching. He was 75 years old, but looked younger and in the space of 30 seconds he told me that his wife of 53 years had just died and then he added “I didn’t know what I had”, and began to cry softly.
Married 41 years myself, I felt immediate compassion for this gentleman who told me that she had developed ALS and died “without dignity.” He relayed how he would carry her to the bathroom and even told me that he found himself wishing she would die. Racked with a combination of guilt, loss, and grief, he continued to say “I didn’t know what I had.”
I touched his shoulder and told him it is clear to me how much he loved her, and that she would live on in his heart and mind. He just shook his head and cried, and I knew that his grief was in a deep place I could not massage, and that only time would soften the loss. I also knew that this was a peek at the loss many of us will feel when the love of our life suffers and dies. Unavoidable, this kind of grief waits in the shadows to clutch our hearts and stab our minds.
What I did not have the time to tell him is that I knew that he only wanted her suffering to end, that no one holds him accountable for that, and that the best of us struggle to know what it is we have, while we are having it. There is no doubt that he loved her deeply, and cared for her in sickness in a way most men could not.
Grab the moment, and squeeze it like it might be your last. Work hard at knowing what you have, and prepare for a loss that will leave you crying to a stranger during a three minute conversation in a stairwell.
I will confess that only now, this late in life, am I reading Anne Frank’s diary.
With just 20 pages left, and her demise imminent, I am reluctant to finish it, as I know how I am going to react, and I am already grieving. During the course of this read I have fallen completely in love with this brave and enchanting girl who was so far beyond her years. Still, she had a child’s innocence while teetering between remarkable insight, bravery, fear, and a young girl’s fantasy.
I find that as I get older certain things punch me right in the heart, and my soul bleeds openly. Our world is filled with so much beauty which runs concurrently with a certain degree of horror and unimaginable suffering. This dichotomy spins my head and leaves me uncertain of everything outside of my own small family.
Now I am off to say goodbye to Anne and hurt just a little bit more.
his father told him
not to worry
and to meet him
everyday
after dinner
by the fence
that separated
where the boys lived
and the men lived
and so he did
everyday
and the minutes
they had together
were all that was left
his mother
and sister
were somewhere else
in that awful place
where people screamed
and disappeared
and there was very little food
and it was cold
and he had to pretend
to be older
like his father told him
because younger boys
are taken somewhere
and never return
he did not know why
they were taken from their home
so many
such a long trip
filth
agony
sickness
pain
despair
death
so each day
he went to that fence
for many months
as his father grew thinner
and his mother
and sister
were somewhere else
I love you, said father
be strong
be brave
work hard
come tomorrow
my son
and so he did
except his father
was not there
that day
or the next day
or any other day
again
and all that he had
was all gone
in that awful place
called Auschwitz
Mike's Look at Life 