March 19: Departure

sense of loss

driving to the airport

roadside memorials

September 11

Remembering.

Goldenrod shakes under

the weight of bees.

July 15: In memory

Memorial service.

A dog outside

barking relentlessly.

Posted with Blogsy

November 5: Memorial

Memorial service.

Tamarack needles

have all turned gold.

 

Posted with Blogsy

October 3: Memorial

How sweet the roses

planted by a friend now gone.

I inhale again.

Posted with Blogsy

January 23: In memory

Your yard a rose garden

attracting rare birds

just as you drew in friends.

Posted with Blogsy

November 14: After the terrorist attacks in Paris

Un vent froid du nord.
Je pense aux trottoirs de Paris
entasses avec des fleurs.

March 15: In memory of Phoebe

Tonight's full moon

lights a candle on the snow

to honor her memory.

Posted with Blogsy

September 7: Memorial celebration for Kate

When we talk about
goldenrod and asters, it's
really about grief.

November 8: Wind and sorrow

For the third time in a year I attended a memorial service for a someone I knew and admired--all three vital men taken in their prime, each a role model for the way one should live a life--energetic, joyful, generous forces within this community. At today's service, folk musician Gordon Bok and his wife, harpist Carol Rohl, performed Gordon's song, "Isle au Haut Lullaby," some particular phrases of which really resonated for me:

Give sadness to the stars
And sorrow to the seas...

Sleep now, the moon is high,
And the wind blows cold;
For you are sad and young
And the sea is old.

Bleak but oddly comforting images as the wind roars outside, whipping branches in the near-dark, and not far away, the cold waters of Penobscot Bay stretch to the horizon with their burden of islands, an ocean deep enough to swallow any grief.

The widow said she felt like
last night's storm was carrying
her husband away from her.

July 18: Reminder

Hundreds of people from the community gathered together today under a big tent in the hot sun at the Ragged Mountain Recreation Area to celebrate the life of Ken Bailey, a man who did it all: he was a loyal husband and father, Vietnam vet, editor and columnist of the local paper, owner of the town shoe store, policeman, fireman, Rotarian, Maine guide, avid hunter and fisherman, executive director of the Megunticook Watershed Association, and lake warden on Megunticook Lake and Nortons Pond. He had a kind word for everyone, and his life was an inspiration. He loved life and outlived his cancer prognosis by about four years, engaged and alert to the very end.

I stood in the shade of a spruce tree while family and close friends recounted their favorite memories of Ken. Up the mountainside a raven croaked several times, distracting me for a moment. As I briefly shifted my attention, I could hear a goldfinch twitter and dip overhead. It struck me how here below we were all thinking about mortality, grieving a loss in our human community, while up in the sky the birds continue to fly and sing: life goes on. Beautiful things still happen, even when we aren't open to recognizing them.

Above the mourners
goldfinches flit and chatter 
in the bright sunshine.

March 25: Small town

My husband and I just got back from a memorial service that filled the Camden Opera House, standing room only. I'm not exaggerating much when I say that almost everyone I know in Camden was in attendance. My husband and I were there because Don was a key member of the Rotary club I belong to, a genuinely kind person with a lively mind whose civic-minded life I greatly admired. People were joking that if Don had been there this afternoon, he'd have wanted all of us to vote on something, to get something accomplished for the community. The memorial was certainly better attended than many town meetings I've attended. 

The memorial was a moving experience, with many stories shared by Don's brothers. One of them commented on how everywhere he's been in the past week since Don's passing--the grocery store, the library, a play, a concert, the dump--he's run into someone offering condolences and asking how he's doing. After talking to dozens of people, I left feeling very grateful to live in the same small town where my mother was born, a place where I know that if I need the support of my community, it will be there, in the post office, the corner grocery, the bookstore... Yes, as they say, everyone knows your business in a small town, for better or worse. But there can be much comfort in that, in being part of a true web of human connections.

His simple mantra:

What can I do to help you?

And, Always give thanks.

 

 

August 21: For Charlie

We spent a good portion of the day at the Wellesley Country Club celebrating the life of Charlie Palmer, who would have been 76 today. The father of my best friend, he was one of the kindest, most generous-hearted human beings I've ever known. The event was a true celebration--not without tears, but also with a lot of laughter because that's the kind of person he was. Around him there was always laughter, stories, and genuine caring for whomever he was with.

The photo on the back of the program featured Charlie standing up on a chair giving an extravagant toast at our wedding. We felt like family with Charlie, as did, I think, everyone in that crowded room, only some of whom were actual family. Charlie, my man, we miss you. You have left a large void in our lives, and we're all going to have to be better people to help fill it. This one's for you:

Charlie, your friend dreamed
where you are there is baseball.
That is excellent.