Pleasant Hill

I don’t know if people should drink beer at a cemetery, but I have.  And I do.  And I will.

Last night I sat beside your grave with my head on my hands for a while, just thinking of you.  I imagined the sound of your laughter.  I envisioned your exaggerated expressions.  I thought of your mannerisms and body language.  But, mostly, I thought of the way your face looked when you smiled—so warm and big and bright.  I closed my eyes and remembered how you’d clap your hands together in front of your face when you got excited about something.  I sat there and thought of the sound of your voice when you’d greet me—it was easy to hear your voice in my mind in the quiet of the empty, sprawling field.

This sounds obvious, but it’s sad to think that I’ll never hear that voice again outside of the saved voicemails.  I’ll never see that bright smile again outside of the pictures.  I’ll never hear that laugh and see those waving arms again outside of the videos from vacation.  But I’m comforted that, for now, it’s all permanently in my mind’s eye and imprinted on my heart.  I carry the memory of you within me every day, everywhere I go.  I only visit the cemetery every once in a while, but I visit your memory all the time.

After a while, I got out my guitar and played a few songs.  I barely got through Luke Bryan’s Drink A Beer.  And I cobbled together a some-lyrics version of Zach Brown’s Colder Weather.  And I completely botched Cam’s Burning House.  But it felt good to sit there, next to your resting place--beer open, feeling the sun on my back and just singing.  And when I was done singing, I turned around.

The most beautiful sunset was heading toward the tree-line, and it was so peaceful.  I’m comforted by the hope of seeing you again someday and I enjoyed spending time in my mind, where your earthly body lays.  I’m grateful for all of the memories I have, but I wish you were still here to make more.

Mother's Day Again

The sting of your death lightens and fades as time goes on, it seems like I no longer wince as hard because it’s not right behind me anymore.  It’s farther away, less aggressive.

The more relevant pain is more of a dull ache. A longing.  A wishing you were still here and healthy.  Things would be so interesting and different.

I already know you love this baby from your star house in heaven, but you would be having so much fun with her here.  She’s got this big giant personality and you two would be two peas in a pod.  I need to remember to show her more pictures of you.

Mother’s day is right around the corner and I can’t keep out of my mind the great influence you had on me as a mother figure.  Going through my stuff stored in dads basement last night was a trip down memory lane… the cute purse you got me for Christmas one year even though when I saw it in the mall I made fun of it.  That was a big lesson for me, in humility and open-mindedness.  You taught me that it’s important to be kind in any situation, because you never know if someone’s sensitivities are in play.  I ended up loving that purse dearly.

You challenged me to enjoy your spontaneous but calculated nature.  You encouraged me to revel in the blessings we’re given and not squander moments by worrying too much.  I have to concentrate hard to remember these lessons.  You made it look so effortless, I miss that.

I miss lots of things about you, but I’m glad we had you while we did.  We all miss you so much and wish you were still here and healthy, but we’re glad you’re watching over us.  Happy Mother’s Day.