Going Home

I have so appreciated the various postings to this blog and am intrigued by the differing reasons we visit the site. For some, it is a means to say hi to Jim, to tell him how we feel about him and the impact his life has had on us. For others, it is a means to convey messages of encouragement to his family and friends. And yet for others still, it is perhaps a vehicle to help ourselves through the grief process as we try to find a way to say goodbye to a dear loved one.

I recently observed the first anniversary of my mother's passing and when faced with the opportunity to return home to Buffalo, NY, to visit her gravesite was encouraged by a wise friend, to write about my experience. I wrote private thoughts for my own healing, but have recently thought to share them here in the hopes that they might provide a glimmer of healing for someone else. The following is what I wrote, entitled "Going Home". Please forgive its length as it is long for a blog, but for those interested, I hope it is an encouragement.

On November 11th of 2007, my mom passed away. I recently had my first opportunity to return home and visit her gravesite for the first time. As I drove into the location where the cemetary is, I naturally had a flood of memories from the last time I was there. Her residence was within walking distance of the cemetary and that mid November day was mild enough to allow the procession to be conducted on foot.

I don't use the word "surreal" to describe many events in life, for fear that an overuse may begin to make the extraordinary, ordinary. But the walk to her gravesite that day deserves the use of that word. As we began our final march, we made our way on a short road that was lined with trees whose branches overhung the road, creating a natural canpopy of leaves that were rustling in the odd warm days of a fall that rudely refused to allow winter to enter. The first set of trees bore great wounds, reminders of a winter the previous year, which like an unwelcomed guest, arrived far too early. In mid October of that year, a snowstorm blanketed the region, devestating trees that were still burdened with their summer coats and had not grown stiff in preparation for the winter weight. Trees throughout that region shed massive limbs in an effort to save themselves from a weight which was too much to bare. The trees that we passed under that day, bore reminders from that great battle of the previous year. Almost deformed, huge wounds remained, jagged shards of wood still hung from the base of the limbs that could not find the strength to hold on. The trees looked odd, ill formed, as they tried unsuccessfully to cover gaping holes that were left by the great loss.

As we proceeded toward her final place of rest, warm breezes swept across my cheeks and the few leaves that had already found their way off of their homes, scurried back and forth along the path. Heals clicking on the pavement and a sigh or momentary wimper or cry, reminded me that others were on the same journey. Final goodbyes were made, tears lingered and strong arms wrapped around friends and family as if to willfully infuse strength into one another for the days ahead. I stayed behind for one final goodbye as others departed, and then I too took steps into the future. One cannot stay in that place too long.

As I began to walk that same path on my return visit, my eyes were drawn to those trees once again. Oddly, I stood staring for a moment, not quite sure what it was I was even staring at, but something caught my eye. Then I saw it; the wounds from where the massive limbs had once been ripped from their source of life. But this time, what struck me was that there were now scars, not wounds. Bark had begun to cover what once was jagged and upon stepping back to gain a larger perspective, I could tell that other branches had formed to fill in the massive holes that been left by the great loss. While it didn't happen overnight, healing had not just begun, but it had already made a noticable difference. The trees lining the pathway were once again symetrical and covered the road just as they had several years ago. As I made my way to the gravesite, my clicking heals resounded a solo chorus, yet deep down, I knew that I was going to be okay.