Sylace is rarely, almost never, at a loss for words.
But I am right now. I would like to write poetry and it just sticks inside like a rusty staple the poor cow just consumed in the hay bale.
I would like to have something appropriate to say during this time, when my sons' father has just passed away.
It would be good to know that all of the wonderful things you think about how lucky it all was in the end, to have had that extra 2.5 years, to have had time to work out old issues, to have gone on safely and quietly into the hands of God...it would be good to know that one will feel the same way in six months, in six weeks, even.
That there won't be something you forgot to say, or ask, or express your long repressed emotion about...
The mind makes the best of things, you know, and strong spiritual beliefs are a wave of forward moving comfort that carries you and your loving supporters along through "the things that must be done," depositing you on the beach in the sunshine where you feel safe.
I think the sugar sand will remain this time, not embedded with sharp shells of regret that slice the unsuspecting toe at an inopportune time. I generally just bit into it, and waded into the ocean to let the salt purify the wound for me. No band-aids for little girls who have grown up roaring back at the Atlantic ocean as soon as the milk teeth are dry. I am eternally grateful to have been gifted with Charleston, SC as my second mother.
I know that Jason, who passed away early in the morning of April 18th, was both eager to go and desperate to stay. Really to be mentally intimate with the dying as they near their beautiful release is an experience of such growth...for both parties...that I think far too many people avoid it, to their detriment. People used to be much closer to death in their lives than we are now.
The clarity of thought, finally...after a lifetime of confusion and conflicting desires, when there are no desires left to have...is a last wonder of the soul in the flesh.
Sleep well, Jason. Of all the human beings on the earth who are so misunderstood, I offer you this odd thing in tribute:
I knew you. I understood you. I called you my friend. You mattered.