Grave Robbers Point~ The Last Thing

  " Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him Horatio." 

                                                              ~Hamlet 

       
 The first time I ever ran away from home I chose to go a scant three blocks to the house of an elderly couple. They went to my church, and were long time friends of my family. She a dark haired, kindly lady, He a handsome and hulking man. I showed up on their door step, bags and teddy in tow and They let me in. She made me warm peaches and cream and left me alone to tell Him why I would like to reside at their house from now on. He listened to many small reasons patiently. Nodding and humphing at the appropriate intervals until my tale was told. Then He sat back in His chair, took a long deep breath, and meditated. I felt confident that They would keep me. After all I already sat with them during church, and I visited them many times a week. So my surprise was genuine when He said that I should go home. He said that despite my feelings to the contrary, my parents did love me, and would miss me. He mentioned how lonely my sisters would be and reminded me about my dog. Explaining that as much as They loved me I did not belong with Them. Eventually, after many treats, They persuaded me to return to my dog, sisters and parents. (In that order).

  Today, on an unseasonably warm and beautiful January afternoon I stood back as He was laid to rest next to the wife who left his side only weeks before. It was a small, military graveside service, I having never met any of his children, spoke only to an ancient woman who knew me as a child. Once the scene was void of the living, alongside grave diggers I set to work on the last thing I could do for this Man. I removed my scarf paired gloves with a shovel and began to bury His body.

  During my many wanderings up and down the roads of the cemetery I have become familiar with a name or two. An old school friend and his brother, the old neighbor, a teacher, my family, the family of friends. I take more notice and pay more care to the ones I knew, in turn they provide me with the reminder of the fragility of existence. To bury the remains of an unknown person is something done with reverence and respect. Burying whats left of a friend is something sacred.


 Today, what was once a man I knew was what I now covered with earth. Beneath the lid was a face I had kissed. Arms that had hugged me and carried me, hands that could be counted upon to produce candy at any time. My shovel moved on its own as I, disconnected from my body, watched mournfully. Somewhere I registered that His soul hovered not far off. Part of my brain filled with the moments that compiled memories, another small section recalling how it always seems that people I love get the most agreeable weather for burial, and the other portions divided between my children, my aging grandparents, and to how peaceful I felt at that moment.

  For the first time I was grateful for my crime and the opportunity it had afforded me. To be able to pay respect and homage in a way most are never allowed. My hours today did not go towards my sentence, they went towards a life lived well.

 

Exhale

 Why does that sound so simple?

  I often have to tell my daughters to take a deep breath in order to calm their world and stop it from spinning. They appear to manage it. Why am I finding it so very difficult? Where is my breath? Where is my brain?

  Is it because my wants are too many? Is it because my head is too full? Maybe my lungs are at capacity. Am I up? Or am I upside down? No latitude, no space, no room for a mistake.

 Is this what it feels like to drown? To be suffocated?

 In either case and without further a due, down The Rabbit Hole I go, feet first I pray.  

                 

Nefarious Thoughts

    What do I do with these homicidal thoughts swirling around inside my brain?

Why does slime posing as a human, have to eek it's way into happy lives?

It makes me ill.

It makes me angry.



 


 Then before I know what has happened thoughts of nefarious uses for a shiny shovel begin to fill my head, and I am smiling.

 My jaw tightens, my hands become fists, and as hot, furious tears form I fight the desire to break things.

Deep breath.

Sip of hot coffee.

Still trembling. Still angry.

Remember nothing last forever, and everything has a possitive aspect.

Find it.

Forget it.

 I want to inflict pain! I want to be the Karmic repercussion of someone else s poor choices. I want them to suffer! To feel the agony that I struggle with hourly.

I want justice.

I want equality.

I want Peace and Joy.

I want to purge the feelings of hate that poison me and my Loves.

Somebody Help me..

Magic Made

      It began with Sherlock.

  Of late my young pup has been growing into more of a Dog. In that transformation he has acquired a taste for the occasional constitutional. On a way out, or on a way in this morning a door must have been left ajar just enough for the slender, sneaky pooch to escape.

Lovely.

  After that it was all down hill. A coffee spilling, homework forgetting, financially fretting,  sexually impeding, run in with the law, dinner burning kind of a day. Somewhere between the sexual impeding, and the coffee spilling, I lost it. Overcome with despair, worry and frustration I went into zombie mode, on autopilot. Through two meetings, an impromptu visit to a sick nephew, and the four unexpected dropins, I was in another dimension. Removed enough to not to take notice of what was being said around me. So wrapped up in how sorry I was feeling for myself that I required another lesson in humanity, humility, gratitude and magic.

 Three quarters of the way into meeting number two I received a frantic phone call.
Was I home? Was I close?
What is wrong?...

"The dog catcher is outside and he is after Sherlock!! I will put some clothes on and see if I can get him before he does!CLICK"

 Of course. I mean obviously today is Dog Catcher Day for Sherlock, I just didn't check the calender.

  Making my apologies I dash home to rescue my rescuer. Upon my arrival Sherlock had already been snatched from the clutches of the eager hound impounder and was visiting his beloved Gretta who belongs to his rescuer. Following a somewhat lengthy and stern conversation with the officer I went to fetch my dog. Still wallowing in my own misery I walked to  the home of his girlfriend and collected the muddy mess. But before I departed the home of Gretta, his rescuer rescued me. As I sobbed into her arms with gratitude I unconsciously noticed how strong she was.

*Light Bulb*

 The woman who was hugging me so unconditionally was doing so two days after having one hundred twenty eight stitches removed from her chest. The woman who made my daughters Halloween costume had done so while undergoing treatments. The woman who took my children to ice cream once a week if they did one worksheet, was very ill and in pain often. The woman who frantically called me and saved my dog (again) has been going through things that I cant comprehend, and here she is giving of herself in ways I don't feel I deserve.

  Still in semi zombie mode, but walking in a straight line, my day progressed. The children came home filled with the excitement of December. Telling me what parties were when and how well they had done in school today. They hugged me, laughed at each other and did their homework. Then the oldest girl got home. She walked in the door, and as she does every day after admiring her tree and decorations said "Oh Mom, Merry Christmas. I love you.

 But it wasn't until we had curled up on the sofa to read 'A Christmas Carol' that the force of it hit me.

 How in the world could I be so narrow? I am an incredibly fortunate person. My problems and issues are so meager in the scheme of things. My dear neighbour is fighting breast cancer, the child of a family friend was  just diagnosed with brain cancer, my girlfriend is having difficulties with a pregnancy and may lose her baby. I know of families who may not have a Christmas. I know of families who do not have dinner tonight.

 Make magic this year. Be kind to your fellow humans. Take time for the ones you love and who love you. Do more than one good deed  for someone you don't know. Don't ever stop being grateful for who you have in your life. and remember ;

"Life will inevitably move you two steps back one way or another, that's just how it works. You are never on top for very long, and you are never at the bottom very long either. But if you can keep your head up, focus on what truly matters, and help where you can, then happiness will find you and you'll be alright."
K. Kirkham

Tutor To The Universe

  Death is one of life's greatest teachers, and loudest alarms. Death has the power to pull you from the mundane, daily routine that many call life, jam you into focus and give you the insight to live.  Being arrogant mortals, we tend to forget that at any moment, any second, our time can come. We forget that we have no say in how we go, and no say in when. Sadly and all to often, what reminds us most of our own mortality is a brush with Death.

 Have you ever seen him? Death I mean? Has he ever been so close that you can feel him breathing behind you?

 I have seen Death.

 I have been close enough to Death to see his face, and feel the cool wave of energy that follows and proceeds him. Close enough to sense the soul departing, to hear a last breath. I have had to learn the lesson of mortality, and it was painful. But learning it has made me a better human. Learning how quickly a life is changed by events not under our control makes one re evaluate one's own life. It makes you stop and take notice of the way you talk to your kids. Makes you look at where you are putting efforts, and the relationships you may be neglecting. It reminds you of what matters. It forces you to open your eyes. 

The other thing about Death is, he never travels alone.

 My most recent meeting with Death was a particularly harrowing one. The pace of my heart, and the chill on my neck told me how close He was this time. Before I could panic I felt something else. A warm, peaceful buffer between Death and I. Then I heard music. Singing to be exact. Being very familiar with the sweet voice, and warm comfort I knew that my loved ones were safe. Today was not our day. Today Death left with someone Else's loved one. Today I carried my babies home and tucked them in. I get a few more moments.

But, tomorrow it could be me. Tomorrow it could be you.

Grave Robbers Point ~ 2

 Birds were singing, tree's swaying softly, it was a beautiful day. And there I stood unable to enjoy it over the glare of my impending doom.

 So we waited.

  Neither one of us willing to budge or flex on our opinions of this matter.

 After the customary eternal wait time the cop showed up. Stepping out of his car, the officer looked a bit perplexed. The Sexton hobbled over and spoke to the man in blue, recanting my crime and the harm that it "may" inflict on the populous. Several times throughout the rant I noticed that the officer checked his watch and shifted his weight. It looked as though he found this whole affair as annoying and wasteful as I did. However he had no choice but to do his job.

  He came then to listen to my side. I told him everything just as it had happened, and again offered to put the flowers back, volunteered my services for an afternoon, anything to keep this from going further. Looking hopeful at the sound of these options, and the thought of less paperwork, Johnny Law took my offers to the Sexton. . . . and was met with the same stone response that I had hit. I could see he was giving this his all, and I did catch snipets of their conversation...

"She has apologized for her mistake........"Clearly this was an innocent misunderstanding"....

 But I could see that he was having no more luck than I in reasoning with this rigid fellow. Bearing a face that was a mix of frustration and sympathy the officer walked to his car and got out his little back book. (The one with all the tickets in it.) I thought to myself, well, a ticket can't be that bad, I mean they aren't arresting me, so I can deal with this, right?

 "Alright Mam, I am going to have to give you a ticket...for petty theft."

Petty Theft?! Are you nuts?!

 "I am sorry about this, however I have been informed that this is a real problem in the cemetery." He explained. "So, if you'll sign here, thank you, then all I need are a few pictures of the stolen property in your trunk and you are free to go."

  I reluctantly signed and stared at the large mark on my perfect record. Fuming and stunned I watched as my car was photographed for "evidence", and it's contents (ten flowers) were triumphantly removed.

 "One last thing Mam, if you fail to appear on the date printed on your ticket, a warrant will be issued for your arrest. "

Bloody Brilliant. 

Grave Robbers Point~

  The cemetery has long been, if you'll excuse me, a favourite haunt of mine. I find it very soothing, especially in the fall. I love to walk the narrow tree lined paths, and read epitaphs or talk to my little sister. Heck I even taught my twins how to ride their bikes on this holy ground. (No traffic)
 
  In an odd and ironic twist my tranquil retreat has become a minor nightmare. It began after Memorial Day. I was taking my weekly walk and noticed several people picking up flowers off of graves and depositing them into their vehicles. They weren't being at all shy about it either. Most were just strolling down the lanes and nicking the ones they fancied. I thought to myself 'What a great idea! Rescuing these flowers from becoming compost! They are set to be discarded in a day or two, and my beds could use a bit of sprucing. Besides, I have spoken to the sexton in the past, he let me have a bag of dirt for my garden. And if all these people are just blatantly retrieving them, what could be the harm?'

  So, the next day I loaded up the twins and off we went. When we pulled in I told them the plan. We were going to collect ten flowers and give them a good home. They were excited at the prospect of helping plants and they love the graveyard as much as their mother. We went about choosing colpimentary colors and varieties that would suit our front yard. (We plant our beds in orange, white and black for the Halloween displays) Once we had selected our rescues and were on the way out I saw It. The most beautiful dark purple climbing clematis. It was so striking against the lush green backdrop I thought it would be a shame to let it perish. So, against my better judgement I turned back to fetch it. After collecting our last edition and while singing The House Of The Rising Sun we made for the gate. . . and were cut off.

  Out of an authoritative white truck hobles the Sexton. Mumbling something to the effect of '. .don't think all those flowers belong to you. .' and a vague '. .do you know how many people come crying to me. . ' Then, he pulled out his cell and dialed.
The call I caught clearly. "Yes I need an officer to Mountain View Cemetery right away. I have a young lady here stealing flowers."

Stealing flowers? Are you serious? As we waited for the law to arrive I tried to reason with the keeper of the dead, but he would have none of it. I told him I would put them back, I told him I have a perfect record. I mentioned that we had met before and he liked me then. However with each comment he grew more to resemble the monuments he watched over.  Eventually I took my own cue from the dead and fell silent.