COFFINS

My Dad’s cousin own a funeral home in Cleveland. Picking out my Father’s coffin was one of the most surreal experiences of my life so far. The place had not changed much in fourteen and a half years. It was like walking into a time warp, only this time my Dad wasn’t there. I vaguely remember being with him to pick out my Mom’s coffin. Mostly I remember what it felt like to be in that cold, dimly lit basement full of display cases and weird decoration add-ons. I remember it feeling awful and heavy and unfair when I was sixteen. This time at 31, it almost felt like a joke.

My five siblings and I, along with my Dad’s mother and oldest brother, walked around in a haze trying to pick out a box to lay his body to rest. Damn. Coffins are expensive. I guess I didn’t realize it when my Mom died because he was there. I do remember that he only wanted the best for her. She was the love of his life and he didn’t care how much it cost.

His cousin and good friend was helping us arrange everything; again. He made an honest joke about my Dad being furious if we spent lots money on his coffin. He told us our father would be pretty upset if we put him in anything nicer than a plywood box. It was very difficult to hear but it was the truth. He always put everyone ahead of himself and rarely asked anyone for anything. The man was the hardest person to buy gifts for. Every time we asked, he would simply say, “I don’t need anything. If I want something I can buy it for myself.” We chose the nicest low-grade box that we felt comfortable with. We knew better than to disobey him even when he was dead.

CONNECTION

I used to visit Her at the cemetery a lot. It was the only place I could actually feel Her presence and the only place I allowed myself to cry. My Dad used to ask me why I was going so much but I could never find the words to give him an answer. I would sit next to her gravestone after school and wonder what the hell the point was. He used to tell me that although her body was there in the ground, she wasn’t there; she was everywhere, all around us. He said I could talk to her and connect with her whenever I want, wherever I went. I didn’t really get it.

Up until recently I could count on one hand the amount of times that I had truly felt my Mom’s presence outside of that cemetery. I remember the first time very clearly. I had been living in New York City for about a year with a good friend. One evening she received an unexpected call that her brother had passed away in his sleep. It was obvious that she wanted to be alone so I went to my room quietly, not really knowing what to do. I felt like an idiot. I thought of all people, I should how to handle the situation but instead I just sat on my bed and cried. After some time, I recall feeling a soft and loving presence fill the air. It shocked me at first but quickly became comforting and warm. It was as if I was being rocked like a baby and I soon recognized that it was my Mom. It felt so familiar and safe. My room turned into a protective bubble of love. She stayed with me through the night as I mourned for my friend, for her brother and her family. She gently wiped my tears and held vigil as I cried myself to sleep. I had longed for her to hold me since she died and that was the first time I allowed it. I woke up the next morning feeling rested and in awe of Her beauty. I realized that the tears for my friend and her brother were also tears for my beloved Mother. They were tears of grief with a touch of acceptance. It was our first solid connection since She left us.

The second time was a couple years later during a yoga class. I was lying in savasana and I drifted far away. I was fairly new to the practice and was surprised to find myself expanding beyond the walls of the room. Before I knew it I was sitting on a beautiful grassy hill directly across from my Mom. We sat together in silence, lovingly enjoying one another’s company. It was a vividly profound moment but it ended just as quickly as it started. I rode the subway home in a daze unable to articulate my experience. I felt confused, like I was floating in time and space. But from that night on something inside of me started to wake up. I began to understand what my Dad had been talking about. I decided not to forget about these moments. I made a promise to myself to allow Her back into my world, to keep my eyes open, and to look for Her wherever I decided to go.  

HOLLOW HEART

May 1999

How can it be that she is gone?
One year this September­­ – how can it be?
I’m learning to live with the emptiness, that’s all I can do.
That’s all I can do until we meet.
Until we meet, my heart is hollow.
When I embrace her in heaven, I will be whole.
I will be whole for eternity if I have her.
If I have her I will long for nothing.
Nothing shall I long for when my hand is in hers.
When my hand is in hers, I will be free.
I will be free from sadness, anger and loneliness.
Someday we’ll be together and that alone will keep me awake.
I will stay awake until it’s my turn to go.
When it’s my turn to go, I won’t be afraid.
I won’t be afraid, she will welcome me in her arms and together we will sleep.
Together we will sleep at the feet of God.