I walked in the house this evening and headed straight for the hallway closet. My husband was in the backyard flying his drone, but I didn't even peek out to say hello. I pulled three large bank bags which are actually funeral bags from the closet and gingerly began scanning through the information tucked inside. My daughter had sent me an email first thing this morning, requesting specific information for a college paper she had been putting off for months. It was a paper about death. She needed details about the four deaths that have touched our family. She needed information about the deaths of my husband's parents, my mother, and specifically the death of her half brother whose death was tragically sudden at the age of 23. She dreaded writing the paper and actually put it off until it was late which was a first for her and extremely out of character. I think I dreaded it as much as she did. I think it's natural for people to tuck painful memories and events in a pocket of the Heart. A pocket that allows just enough memory without causing too much pain. As I sat down and began to write the dates and details, I couldn't help but weep. The death of our parents is something we all expect at some time in life. The death of a child before their time, is never expected. The pocket of my heart that contains the memories of Richie's life and death are a mixture of heartache and regrets that I live with every day. His death digs up the could have, should have, and would have's that I cannot go back and fix. I can't fill in the missing pieces. I can't make it better, and I can't bring him back leaving a compartment of my heart without complete peace. The pieces of puzzle are not so neatly tucked away in the secrets of my heart.
No comments:
Post a Comment