Never forget who you are
A short story for my Dad.
Mellow winter.I don't remember it ever being this cold in April.I'm shivering. The rain
is soaking through my hair, the heels of my shoes are sinking into the ground and I'm desperately trying to escape the sympathy of people I don't know anymore.Standing right here, leaning on my brother for his warmth,I take in the words that have no meaning. Nod and smile, nod and smile. Thinking of a good stiff drink. Somehow I don't think Catholic Father Solemn would appreciate that thought, he doesn't look like he has much of a sense of humour, and we must remember the "occasion."
I can't help thinking that you would get a laugh out of this whole scene; it may be macabre, but it's funny. Sitting in the family pew, all the bereaved together while you're eulogised...they're leaving out the real you, the man that you really were.
I'm recalling the speech my Aunt gave me this morning, just before we left, about respect and "making a good impression".And I recall you telling me, time and again, "never forget who you are." Decisions, decisions. I don't want to speak about you as if you weren't here, don't want to forget the life and the vitality of you, won't let you fade into a ghost, forgetting who you are. No yearly reunions in the cemetery for you, no duty visits and flowers that made you sneeze. I want them to feel your essence, to see you as I did, dancing in the downpour after the drought,delivering lambs at midnight,smoking on the verandah in the late summer evening with your dog at your feet.That was you...IS you.It has to be told that way.Not all loss should end in tears and mourning.
My family are staring at me like I'm a headless chicken,and I can sense my Aunt's dissaproval,although she won't meet my eyes.The priest coughs and speaks more words without meaning, and I can feel your arm wrapped around my shoulder like it often was.I wonder will it be a clear sky tonight? I'd like to just stare at the stars and the moon for a while, and remember who you are.
Mellow winter.I don't remember it ever being this cold in April.I'm shivering. The rain
is soaking through my hair, the heels of my shoes are sinking into the ground and I'm desperately trying to escape the sympathy of people I don't know anymore.Standing right here, leaning on my brother for his warmth,I take in the words that have no meaning. Nod and smile, nod and smile. Thinking of a good stiff drink. Somehow I don't think Catholic Father Solemn would appreciate that thought, he doesn't look like he has much of a sense of humour, and we must remember the "occasion."
I can't help thinking that you would get a laugh out of this whole scene; it may be macabre, but it's funny. Sitting in the family pew, all the bereaved together while you're eulogised...they're leaving out the real you, the man that you really were.
I'm recalling the speech my Aunt gave me this morning, just before we left, about respect and "making a good impression".And I recall you telling me, time and again, "never forget who you are." Decisions, decisions. I don't want to speak about you as if you weren't here, don't want to forget the life and the vitality of you, won't let you fade into a ghost, forgetting who you are. No yearly reunions in the cemetery for you, no duty visits and flowers that made you sneeze. I want them to feel your essence, to see you as I did, dancing in the downpour after the drought,delivering lambs at midnight,smoking on the verandah in the late summer evening with your dog at your feet.That was you...IS you.It has to be told that way.Not all loss should end in tears and mourning.
My family are staring at me like I'm a headless chicken,and I can sense my Aunt's dissaproval,although she won't meet my eyes.The priest coughs and speaks more words without meaning, and I can feel your arm wrapped around my shoulder like it often was.I wonder will it be a clear sky tonight? I'd like to just stare at the stars and the moon for a while, and remember who you are.
posted by kat | 6:46 PM
2 Comments:
In honour of a man whom I never met,but loved,just the same. Keep sing,dancing & playing your pipe,Blessed One. We won't forget....that damned whicker chair & your dog will be with me always.
i was once told the spirit and soul of our departed loved ones lives on in our hearts, and in our minds, and in our tales of those to the next generation, so they may too know who they are... and remember... hold that spirit near, keep that memory close, and you will never forget who you are... and the nxt time you hear pipes on the wind, and catch a wisp of smoke from under a shade tree... you'll know
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