loss

I started to write a post about loss (and legacy reels) back when my grandpaw passed away...and then tried again recently when my uncle departed. Days got busy, I'm easily distracted and all of my attempts felt too frilly...too feely.

What I'm really aiming to say has been said in countless ways so, maybe that is why I feel too antsy to pin the words down (pen the words down?). It amounts to "Life is beautiful." though there are plenty of other worthy and valid things to be said about lives well-lived and legacies left behind. Like the following statements:

"The Grand Canyon is large."

"Niagara Falls is wet."

 "There's gold in dem dar hills."

 improvements could be made but the fundamental idea is present and accounted for.

Sometimes that's the best one can do.

So, here I am, sharing the video made in tribute to my uncle as a stand-alone excuse for where I've been lately, a picture-postcard from this other place for which I haven't an adequate vocabulary.

Though I was honored to be asked to help with this project,  I'm not saying "Look what I did." Although I became thoroughly immersed in the project, I'm not sharing a work of art. Truly, it is the handiwork of a novice-at best and I wish it were more...polished.



I share because the process of distilling a life story of 80 plus years down into an 80 proof shot has been transformative for me.



 I learned so many new things about my uncle but also about the world in which I live. Walking through the story of his life was like a history lesson wrapped in one last, strong hug.



In some ways, it helped me say good-bye. In other ways it confirmed that though I know I'm expected to do more and more of it in the years to come, saying goodbye will not get any easier.



The dread of such thoughts is almost enough to steal the joy of today-almost.



But even if it's only for today, the rest of us are still here -together. 

That is no small thing.

 This week, while watching a Disney show with the BigKids, we watched a eulogy scene that called on lines from "Our Town" for fitting words about this business of leaving Earth. I definitely couldn't have said it better myself.  

I know.

 I tried.

"Let's really look at one another!...It goes so fast. We don't have time to look at one another. I didn't realize. So all that was going on and we never noticed... Wait! One more look. Good-bye , Good-bye world. Good-bye, Grover's Corners....Mama and Papa. Good-bye to clocks ticking....and Mama's sunflowers. And food and coffee. And new ironed dresses and hot baths....and sleeping and waking up. Oh, earth,you are too wonderful for anybody to realize you. Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it--every,every minute?"

~THORNTON WILDER //  "OUR TOWN"

No, we don't. We can't. But, we should at least try.

I love all of you. 

Take care of yourselves and each other. 

~k 

The Bittersweet Box

Back in January, I started a post about some things I've been thinking about ever since my Grandpa's funeral. Thoughts about life and death and all the moments in between...pivoting on the idea that a life of 80 plus years, distilled into the few scant minutes of a "legacy reel"  packs more punch than a shot of 80 proof whiskey.



Days got busy, I got distracted and further attempts at plumbing those depths were abandoned.



In March, my Uncle Roy passed away. He was 88 years alive.  I did not arrive in time to say good-bye to Roy but I spent a few hours that same day huddled with my family as the downpour of loss washed over us.



Before I returned home, I was asked to help make a slideshow to be played during a celebration of Roy's life. It was being planned for what would have been his 89th birthday. I had just shy of two months to prepare.



I see now that more than the privilege of being asked to help pay tribute, I was given a box of bittersweet morsels (with assorted creme centers) to help me digest this unwelcome transition.

It was the gift of a two-month long good-bye.

In April, I met up with my mom and aunts in Savannah to get  pictures for the slideshow. As I bit into the bittersweet square of spending time together -this gift from Roy and his recent departure- the center was rich with the caramelized sugars of River Street pralines and thick with the southern comfort of The Pirates' House cuisine. It went down smoother than a Savannah River ferry and lingers in my memory as comfortably as we did  in the Westin lobby.

 I had determined from the start that this slideshow was meant to tell a story, to be more than just a loop of pictures playing as backdrop (we had photo discs for that)...I wanted it to be the best of what I could bring. Actually, I wanted it to be better than what I felt I was capable of. I didn't know what that would look like but I started out with a goal of getting as many photos in some sort of chronological order as possible.



I worked in bits and pieces, as my "mom-life" would allow. Oftentimes, I didn't get started until midnight or beyond and my new bedtime became " I don't sleep." Whenever I did go to bed, it was to shut my eyes and pretend I wasn't suddenly bombarded with a dozen thoughts about getting up to tweak that one little slide or making lists of what I would look up when the sun finally...FINALLY...got around to rising.



It would be fair to say that I was consumed by the project but I feel "steeped-deep" is a better analogy, for at the end of this process, I anticipated a cup of caffeinated warmth; "No lemon, no sugar,  no cream." And it required lots of coffee & tea.

One morning, three o'clock found me at the table, in the dark, quietly crying over the first salutes of strangers on YouTube.

"Granddaughter Salutes Veteran Grandfather"

"Father/Son First Salute"

I had only needed a two second sample salute for my project, but I was moved with pride and patriotism for these strangers..my fellow citizens. With a salute, I  wiped my tears, saved my work and sent me off for a brief nap. The mint waiting on my pillow was bittersweet, with a cherry red center of valor and the hard nougat of courage. I dreamt of World War II and the shores of Iwo Jima, though I had been to neither. I awoke with the taste of gratitude in my heart.



The slideshow's storyline wasn't progressing fast, but my appreciation for the untold chapters of my Uncle's life were... He was a quiet man and he had lived so much life before we even met him... I was learning so much about him and also, about the world in which I live. It was like a history lesson wrapped in one last, long bear hug.



Biting through the bittersweet square of learning revealed a crumbly dry center whose recipe dates back to the Great Depression, highlighted by the rough texture of hard times and the smoky after note of lives rising from the ashes time and again. The lasting flavor was that of deepened admiration. 

Soon enough, I was nearing the deadline, and all about me, at random, I could hear my family singing snatches of the song tracks I had been sampling for the slideshow's background. They painted a sad smile on my face, these bittersweet song bites. They turned us into an impromptu, ill-timed and off-tune choir, able to increase a song's gravity not with skill or harmony but merely by much repeating. Their creamy orange centers tasted impossibly of foreshadowing realized and



Often, I had my four year old in my lap while I tried to make small adjustments. She took interest in the story being told- in who the man was and what the pictures revealed about him. One day she whispered to me "I just know that man is still here...somewhere in the world.  He is still somewhere." As if he were merely misplaced for a moment, or off on one of his grand adventures as displayed in the many travel photos we were adding.



 The next morning, she had brung the last birthday card he made for her and quietly left it beside my workstation. Together we counted the clip-art horses on this square of bittersweet, but only I could taste the complex contrast of Innocence against Inevitability.

...on the Legacy Reel

It is said that life is not a dress rehearsal,  but I've become convinced it may very well be the raw footage of a story yet told. The lead up to a highlight reel.

And like the actor who never views his own work,  we do not see the final cut. ..at least not in a theatre this side of Heaven.

I keep thinking about my grandfather. .. his funeral specifically.  An entire life concentrated within the walls of that old Nazarene sanctuary for 2 hours and a day. Sons and daughter told their tales,  some bickering afterwards about the tellings.