Memorial Day

Another Memorial Day weekend, another chance to remember those who have passed, to think of all the people who are gone. More than I can remember, at least all at once. I’m never too sure how I should feel about people who died. Nobody ever explained that, it wasn’t covered in religion class, church, social studies, anywhere. How do you look at someone who is gone?

It is always a shock when someone tells you someone you know, or knew, is dead. You feel a pain, a loss, a part of you aches, maybe a part of you dies, I don’t know. But, it is painful, it hurts, and the closer you were, the more it hurts. And then it fades, an empty nothingness, a blank, a vacuum somewhere, some place you didn’t even know existed. And now it doesn’t. And nobody ever tells you how to deal with it.

So, you ignore it, somebody you knew is gone, forever. Deal with it. Easy enough, most of the time, but once in a while something creeps across your radar, a sound, a scent, a sight, a distant trembling madness that demands your attention, and you’re stuck. Looking into a place you don’t want to look into, or even think about. Thinking about somebody you will never see again, at least not in this place. And, it is always just you, and your empty place. Nobody really wants to know about it, everybody has their own memories, their own empty places, they don’t need yours.

“Deep into that darkness peering, 

Long I stood there wondering, fearing,

Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal dared dream before.”

The Raven by Edgar Allen Poe

Sometimes you can’t see the face of the person, you can’t remember what he looked like, how her voice sounded, but you always remember where you were, what you were doing when you heard. You always remember that. The details are burned into a cave painting in the recesses of your sanity. And you look when you have to, but most days, it is in the dark, out of sight. And there is no instructions on when to look, how to feel when you do look. 

“I kept thinking about what the weatherman said, 

and if the voices of the living could be heard by the dead.

Well, the days gonna come when were going to find out, 

In some kind of way I take a little comfort from that, (now and then).” 

Jesus of the Moon, by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds

I don’t know much about death, or spiritual renewal, or profound religious beliefs, and I’m not sure it would help if I did. But, I do know many people who meant so much to me have gone to join the choir invisible, and there are days I don’t think about them, and there are days when it seems as if that is all I think about. And I don’t know why. Death is almost taboo. Everybody can join, everybody will join, it is an offer you can’t refuse, but don’t ask about, don’t talk about it, and for God’s sake don’t think about it.

So, on Memorial Day I am going to toast all of those who are lost, to me and everybody else, and I am going to toast everybody who is still here. Everybody with a secret cache of regret they deal with alone. Because I know the old song was right,

“Pancho needs your prayers, it’s true

But save a few for Lefty too,

He just did what he had to do,

And, now he’s getting old.”

Pancho and Lefty, by Townes Van Zandt

People, Memories, and Life.

Memorial Day, and I think of the people I lost. A parade of faces, memories, has it really been that many? You don’t really notice, it just kind of happens, but when you stop and think about it, really think about it there are too many. Each holds a special place, each carries their load of history, your history, my history. Too many faces, too many people. It is overwhelming. A lot of times the thing you remember the most is finding out, when someone told you they were gone. It was a punch, fast, unexpected, painful. It is a feeling that can last a lifetime.

In a lot of ways, though, the real sadness is when you think of the people who are still alive and you never see anymore. Times change, people change, places change, and people change places. But, deep inside there is always a part that remembers the people who are still alive and are long gone. They are the ghosts of modern society. And they haunt you too.

It is the ultimate revenge of mobility. We can move farther, faster and more efficiently but at what cost? Looking back, the friends who helped me through life are scattered around the country, and if I see their smiling mug on Facebook it always bring a pained smile. A smile because I see their face, the pain knowing I may never see them in person again. Some of these people were so close, so good to me they passed from friend to family. And some people are lost so completely I don’t even see them there.

But, it is a time of celebration. My parents are buried in a little cemetery close to where they grew up, so many years ago. It is a long way from where I live. My cousin and her husband make the rounds. Decorating graves all over, in small, almost hidden graveyards. It is a joyful practice, and they do it with love, and admiration, and respect for the people they knew and loved. It brings some peace knowing my parents are not being ignored. I can’t really explain why but it does. This year they even sent me a picture, and it brought a tear to my eye. I can never thank them enough.

One year we were fortunate enough to be there to help them go and gather the flowers and decorations, it may have been one of the most spiritual moments of my life. Watching them, driving from place to place, paying their respects, sharing their memories.

Memories are important, but don’t forget to remember the people who are in front of you, they are important, too.

Do You Remember Where?

Places can haunt just as easily as people. In many ways even more. There are places from my past that weave in and out of focus, One minute it is clear, solid and then it fades. Lonely places, crowded places, places that mean nothing, but maybe they use to mean everything.

Why do they follow me around? Why do they keep popping up? There is nothing connected to most of them. Nothing at all. But there they are, in the dark,in the back, worming to the front. Why? Let me clue you 

Places have magic, places have power. Magnetic attraction. Pulling you, inexorably to the past. But what past? Sometimes I even know the town we were living in at the time. Names like Roswell, Pocatello, Scottsbluff, but after that it gets fuzzy, indistinct. Where in the town was this building, this alley, this bridge. Are any of the visions still there? Were they ever really there? A lot has happened, a lot has changed. If I could go visit would anything look at all like the things chasing me? 

My wife likes to visit new places. See new things. Will they end up haunting me. One place we have been to, twice, was the unfortunate victim of a terrible wildfire. Burned, gone, erased from the place, but not from my places. It will always be there, and I will never be able to return the favor.

I work in a very old building, in an ancient part of town. Sometimes the building will sigh, and you can almost hear it say "oh brother, I can tell you, I have seen some things." And you know it has. It has seen a lot of things. It sat, derelict, empty except for some homeless people, wildlife and memories. The memories are still there.We don't talk about those, though. They are just out of sight, you can feel them, but you can't see them.

When I first read "Heart of Darkness" by Joseph Conrad the line "and this also has been one of the dark places..." kept me from being able to finish the story. I tried, but the "dark places" kept insinuating itself into my thoughts. Not so much because I felt my memories were of dark places, but the notion places had the ability to be dark. Still, to this day, those words have more meaning than he probably intended. What of the places that come to me, without being called, without explanation?  Certainly they had at one point been a place of darkness. But it was long before I got there. Then they were just places, with a story to tell. Maybe a lot of stories, or maybe just one long story.

Maybe, since my family moved a lot when I was young, and I have always been a little awkward, shy, it was easier to meet places, things. Maybe places, things were easier to understand. Maybe they still are. I don't know, maybe nobody does. Maybe no place knows. but, maybe they do.

Happy Birthday, Mom*

I would like to do something a little different today. It is my Mother's birthday, or it would be if she were still alive. I am not really sure how old she would have been, or exactly how many years ago she passed away. It seems like a hundred years ago, and it seems like yesterday. Memories and regrets don't understand the passage of time.

She was a remarkable woman in many ways. having a robust sense of humor and an almost infinite capacity for forgiveness. Both of which her only son tested often, and severely. I thank the heavens almost everyday that my sons are better children than I was. And even more often wish I had been better.

Every year vacation would be spent visiting "the Grandmas," my mom, my aunt (who was really like Mom 2), and my wife's mom. Now they are all gone and memories, a few pictures and some stories are all that remain. Unfortunately for anybody who has made it this far you are about to read a few.

She was born and raised in hard times, and in many ways never really managed to escape. But, she never used that as an excuse to stop trying, or complain about her fate. She worked until she couldn't. And it never bothered her.

We would take my Mom to visit people. It was only a couple of hours, and she enjoyed the trip, or at least pretended to. And I know she loved to see the people. These were her past, her family, and her connection to her long departed husband. Whose passing weighed on her almost daily.

Looking back, it is certain she had fun, and everybody enjoyed seeing her, too. It was a joy watching my family having such a good time. My Uncle Kenny (married to my dads sister) always teased her about being younger than she was, and he was, by a whole day. His birthday is tomorrow.

She was proud, and wanted to pay her way. One time she wanted to pay for breakfast, and headed
toward the register, my cousin Rick took chase. A waitress, almost a perfect fit for a small cafe in a small town in the west, said, "he's going to catch you." She picked up the pace and managed to pay.

We would see her brothers Joe and Matt (the twins) on the way through. It was just for a cup of coffee, maybe a light lunch, but the connection was immediate, and wonderful. Life's simple pleasures can be the best. Why does that always take so long to learn?

She suffered through a degenerative eye disease, and her doctor told her she should quit smoking. She did, though she complained bitterly I think she was always proud of the feat, a woman in her eighties, who had smoked for 60 years and she quit. Of course, she had enough fight in her that she made my little sister promise to tell everybody that quitting smoking is what killed her. She never lost her sense of humor, or irony.

A double mastectomy, also in her eighties, hardly slowed her down. She spent the night, and the next at the hospital, but on the second day, she got up, made her bed, and called my sister to come get her, because I was too slow. "People were looking at me." Yes, mom, you had your time in the sun, after major surgery, now stop eating all their broth, clean up your mess, and get out.

When we went to check on her after she went home she was having difficulty with some of the post operation hygiene, and it was more than I could handle, I rushed to the car, got my wife, and sent her in to take care of things, she really is a good wife (I have tested that also). For years afterward I would remind her how I was there when she needed me. My wife and my mom had a good laugh about that.

So happy birthday, Mom, thanks for everything. In the words of James Joyce "Whatever else is unsure in this stinking dunghole of a world a Mother's love is not." I always knew she loved me, deserved, or not.

*Sorry this went on so long. She deserved better and I guess this is my way of apologizing.