When He Left
Updated: Sep 9, 2021
Post by Onna Carr
He left when I was five, slipping out of my life amidst the hush of relatives speaking in clusters in the family home and at the church, swathed in dark clothes and tones, dripping with tears of sadness. That was my first encounter with death and the loss of someone I loved. It was then I realized what death meant: Silence and Empty Space that others never can nor should fill.
It was then, that I realized that this life is a dance, with a beautiful but shifting cast of players that slip in and out of your life and in whose lives you slip in and out of. However, a portion of all stay in your memories and your world, and you stay in theirs. The world spins, and the sun shines, and life continues. It is all indeed beautiful, but sometimes, it can be difficult.
I wore a black velvet dress, with triangular lace and white hose to that funeral, and I still have that dress, tucked up in storage in a yellow and white Sunrise Doughnut box. I am not sure why I have saved it through the years. My mother tucked it away for "later" and then gave it to me, and "later" has not yet come, so I keep it there on the shelf, and I remember the life of my great-grandfather that we celebrated at his funeral.
Sometimes, I wonder what "later" looks like? Will it be in ten years when my own daughter slips into that dress and dances her own dance surrounded by those she loves and who love her at five and that dress and the sad memories are redeemed into the light of a happy moment and my grandfather's spirit sings on the breeze amidst the laughter of my children.
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