Letters from the Outpost

Outpost mailbox

Mom-

I visited the cemetery last Wednesday; a self imposed sort of penance for my planned absence on Mother’s Day.
Your grave is in the Evergreen section of North Cemetery, near three young maple trees that will give shade in about ten years. Evergreen has a “forever” ring to it for me and somehow I like that.
I saw the flowers that Maureen had planted and my heart smiled; finally a visible sign that someone had been there.

There was a soft rain falling as I stood there and made the sign of the cross.
But I didn’t pray, instead I talked to you…a kind of prayer, I guess.
There was no wind whispering your name, no divine beams of sunlight through the insipid clouds; but there was a sad awareness that I was just carrying on the eternal conversation we’d been having since you got sick.
There are so many things I’ve longed to tell you; my dreams, hopes and fears, my successes and failures.

I’ve recently learned some things about my life that you never told me but they make me realize even more how incredibly fortunate I was to have you in it.
You and Dad were my God-given soul saviors.
It makes me sad that I really understand that now when I should have understood it long ago. Somehow, I think you both figured me out anyway—a complex task.
Over the years, I’ve somehow grown accustomed to the answering silence to my many desires to reach you.
And so it was with you.
And so it is with Dad…

Before I leave, I bend and touch the rose granite stone I picked out for you way back in September. It’s cold and damp, much like the apathetic world I sometimes feel I currently live in. I get in my truck and realize, maybe for the first time, that green grass now covers the once barren place where you now lay.
Hesitantly, I drive away heading towards a deeper understanding that life still goes on, must go on. It quite simply finds a way.
And so it is with me; and so it is with you.
These are simply words unspoken from a letter unread…

 

~m

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7 thoughts on “Letters from the Outpost

  1. Now I understand what you mean when you say that you hear yourself in what I write. Your voice is manly, but very similar . . . I hear slight differences in pacing, you walk more slowly than I do.

    Liz-

    I've had to literally slow down simply because of my father.
    In the process, you do see things a bit differently.
    Glad you thought the same about our writing.

    ~m

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  2. They may be simply words but you wrote them well. Thanks for sharing them.

    It's interesting that this post was written in less than 20 minutes.
    It just "happened". I really like when that happens.
    Thanks for the visit, Fuzz…

    ~m 

    Like

  3. I think that understanding your parents more only comes with age. We’re not allowed to understand them when we’re younger.

    There’s so much I wish I could do over, do better, love more, be a brat less. But all we can do is move on.

    Beautiful entry!

    Like

  4. Once again, my response will inevitably be inadequate to convey how your “words” are so beautifully used and touched me…therefore I shall not respond….

    Like

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