Beth...that was beautiful...and so is the headstone and Christmas offering! My own parents have been gone since 1978 and 1986 respectively. As the decades have unfolded, my memories of them become more precious, and especially at Christmas I think of them, talk to them, and miss them still. My father died when he was younger than my eldest son is now and my mother died when she was just a year older than him (my son). It's so strange, since I was young enough at the time to think of them as older people...certainly not people like my "kid." I often imagine that I will be met by them at my death, and that is really something to look forward to (just not quite yet, right?).
Your first paragraph brought tears. The lump in my throat is a gift. You took me from Arizona to the cemetery in Belmont, Massachusetts, where my father first, then my mother are buried. I know their souls aren't there, but if I could stand on the cold, hard ground at their marker, I would feel connected. Thank you, Beth.
I feel the same sort of way. My parents, grandparents, two sets of great grandparents and my baby uncle all get wreaths put on their tombstones at Christmas. I stand and commune with them all….those who went before me….those whom I will join soon enough. I keep their memory alive for myself and those who come after us.
Thank you for this moment of transporting myself to the graves of my parents as I watched you there with yours. How are we at this point as I see them younger than I am now?
Beth...that was beautiful...and so is the headstone and Christmas offering! My own parents have been gone since 1978 and 1986 respectively. As the decades have unfolded, my memories of them become more precious, and especially at Christmas I think of them, talk to them, and miss them still. My father died when he was younger than my eldest son is now and my mother died when she was just a year older than him (my son). It's so strange, since I was young enough at the time to think of them as older people...certainly not people like my "kid." I often imagine that I will be met by them at my death, and that is really something to look forward to (just not quite yet, right?).
Linda, that is so much loss, so very soon, so much too soon. I am so sorry for your losses, and no, no, no — or yes (not yet).
Yes...not yet. LOL
Your first paragraph brought tears. The lump in my throat is a gift. You took me from Arizona to the cemetery in Belmont, Massachusetts, where my father first, then my mother are buried. I know their souls aren't there, but if I could stand on the cold, hard ground at their marker, I would feel connected. Thank you, Beth.
You are eternally special to me, Toby. And, I think, you are connected to those you love. No matter where you stand. xoxoxo
I feel the same sort of way. My parents, grandparents, two sets of great grandparents and my baby uncle all get wreaths put on their tombstones at Christmas. I stand and commune with them all….those who went before me….those whom I will join soon enough. I keep their memory alive for myself and those who come after us.
That is a beautiful tradition, Martha. A generous one in which the generosity goes round, then round, then round.
Beautiful, Beth. Thank you for this tribute to love and memory.
You have the biggest heart, dear Cathy. Thank you.
Gorgeous. The planning, the finding, the walking, the visceral sorrow. The memories tied with a red bow.
xo
So lovely and heartbreaking.
Increasingly heartbreaking, it feels to me.
It’s so nice to be able to do this. That little bird…
Thank you, AE. I am blessed in this.
Thank you for this moment of transporting myself to the graves of my parents as I watched you there with yours. How are we at this point as I see them younger than I am now?
Where I am, too, Deb. Seeing them younger than myself. xo
How beautiful. I am so sorry for your loss.
Thank you, C.