I love your stories and the way you write them. Life in all its beauty and agony. And, I so relate to them all. Perhaps it's the era as well. There's something about it that is hauntingly familiar deeply felt.
Funerals are interesting rituals, even in their somberness they are far more extravagant then what passed as one a few hundred years ago. Most often a hole in the earth, a pile of rocks and the stoic faces of those who would never see him or her again was all one got. And that when the work was done, the boats back on shore, and an hour or two borrowed from the rest of the day to get the deed done properly.
I've been to enough funerals, wakes, spreading of the ashes to last a lifetime. Saying goodbye is never easy, because in truth, one never does say goodbye. Their face, the sound of their voice, the last time you walked home with them, are all right there ready to be viewed again and again.
They say the pain goes away over time - I find that to be an incomplete thought - as the pain does fade but always remains somewhere. Like that f**king box of Christmas ornaments that was never used but is still up in the attic, next to the old radio grandpa gave you to fix 40 years ago.
But in a way that's okay. Maybe we're not supposed to forget. Not suffer, sure, no one deserves that.
I remember my father every day and he's been gone for 57 years. I remember everything. His last moments. His smile. The pained look on his face when life let him down - which apparently was far more often than I knew. His natty choice of clothes. The warmth of his hands.
All things for a reason I supposed. Loved the piece, Alison.
I don't know why I didn't respond to the comments on this post, perhaps I had stuff going on. My mother and father's faces are as clear to me now as they were the last time I saw them, on another continent, in another life. I am sorry for your loss. But I disagree about forgetting, I often wish I could.
Just gorgeous, Alison. You inspire me.
Much too kind, but thank you:)
Please keep doing audio readings. I can listen to them at work :)
I believe I could listen to your voice for hours - thank you so much for bringing the 3 Alisons to even more life, in all its pain and love
That's incredibly kind Lisa. I can't believe I missed this comment. I'm so sorry.
I believe I could listen to your voice for hours - thank you so much for bringing the 3 Alisons to even more life, in all its pain and love
I love your stories and the way you write them. Life in all its beauty and agony. And, I so relate to them all. Perhaps it's the era as well. There's something about it that is hauntingly familiar deeply felt.
To know you've reached someone is a writers' dream.
Funerals are interesting rituals, even in their somberness they are far more extravagant then what passed as one a few hundred years ago. Most often a hole in the earth, a pile of rocks and the stoic faces of those who would never see him or her again was all one got. And that when the work was done, the boats back on shore, and an hour or two borrowed from the rest of the day to get the deed done properly.
I've been to enough funerals, wakes, spreading of the ashes to last a lifetime. Saying goodbye is never easy, because in truth, one never does say goodbye. Their face, the sound of their voice, the last time you walked home with them, are all right there ready to be viewed again and again.
They say the pain goes away over time - I find that to be an incomplete thought - as the pain does fade but always remains somewhere. Like that f**king box of Christmas ornaments that was never used but is still up in the attic, next to the old radio grandpa gave you to fix 40 years ago.
But in a way that's okay. Maybe we're not supposed to forget. Not suffer, sure, no one deserves that.
I remember my father every day and he's been gone for 57 years. I remember everything. His last moments. His smile. The pained look on his face when life let him down - which apparently was far more often than I knew. His natty choice of clothes. The warmth of his hands.
All things for a reason I supposed. Loved the piece, Alison.
I don't know why I didn't respond to the comments on this post, perhaps I had stuff going on. My mother and father's faces are as clear to me now as they were the last time I saw them, on another continent, in another life. I am sorry for your loss. But I disagree about forgetting, I often wish I could.