Beautiful equinox, tangle of light behind blushing leaves, and yet I grieve summer's end.
Last Monday, an early call. Mom's quick assurance, and the news. "Dad and I are okay. But Uncle Larry is gone."
That fast. His dear wife left alone in the seconds between stumble and floor, breath and stillness.
At the wedding reception he and I had hugged. Same old Larry, trademark half grin and quiet smile until that burst of laughter. Photos capture others; he takes it easy in the background.
Mom and Dad's new-to-them van breezed the miles to their home on the Columbia. I had strength to drive, which wouldn't have been the case a few weeks back. All things worked together -- Tim came up Friday with James and Kimi for the service. My brothers and their spouses, other family. Hugs and music and cookies and food spread and campfire at dusk.
Home again this week, I sigh in the weather's chill, catching up some. Light, though shining fewer hours, slants easy in the garden, the background.
There is mourning and there is mourning, I suppose. It's all related. I miss summer. I miss Uncle Larry. The night he died, he had just finished supervising a chimney's completion -- his house fully finished after a quarter century. Our extended-family home now lacks something, someone substantial.
The Christian faith I've come to embrace gives me a narrative, a reason for mourning. Blessed are the mourners, pausing in life's background, watching rays slant and smoke rise, yearning for a turn from photo negative to the full spectrum: flavor, music, texture; the delight of joining together again.
Last Monday, an early call. Mom's quick assurance, and the news. "Dad and I are okay. But Uncle Larry is gone."
That fast. His dear wife left alone in the seconds between stumble and floor, breath and stillness.
At the wedding reception he and I had hugged. Same old Larry, trademark half grin and quiet smile until that burst of laughter. Photos capture others; he takes it easy in the background.
Mom and Dad's new-to-them van breezed the miles to their home on the Columbia. I had strength to drive, which wouldn't have been the case a few weeks back. All things worked together -- Tim came up Friday with James and Kimi for the service. My brothers and their spouses, other family. Hugs and music and cookies and food spread and campfire at dusk.
Home again this week, I sigh in the weather's chill, catching up some. Light, though shining fewer hours, slants easy in the garden, the background.
There is mourning and there is mourning, I suppose. It's all related. I miss summer. I miss Uncle Larry. The night he died, he had just finished supervising a chimney's completion -- his house fully finished after a quarter century. Our extended-family home now lacks something, someone substantial.
The Christian faith I've come to embrace gives me a narrative, a reason for mourning. Blessed are the mourners, pausing in life's background, watching rays slant and smoke rise, yearning for a turn from photo negative to the full spectrum: flavor, music, texture; the delight of joining together again.
1 comment:
My condolences on the loss of your uncle Larry.
Your photos are lovely and convey the sense that he died in a time of fullness--the chimney and the summer completed...
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