I tell myself the year’s cycle is now complete.
The day of Larry’s Memorial Service, July 12, was a good day. Long and hard and beautiful. My children had stopped hovering quite so closely. My sister arrived from Texas. Friends flew from Spokane and Walla Walla, rented a car, and found the coffee shop I requested for specific coffee and pastries. We spent the morning visiting, talking, laughing, and waiting together.
Seldom early, reluctant for the hard part, we gathered up the picture displays, the frogs and the collection of black “daily reminder” calendars that were always visible in Larry’s shirt pockets, examples of Larry’s love for me, his organized mind and commitment to the church. Even an hour before the service, others had arrived. My children took charge, setting up the displays while I visited with friends and former parishioner, to be wrapped in love, receive hugs, hear stories, share my gratitude,
I had carefully crafted a service to reflect the faith and the passion of a good, kind man with whom I had spent half my life. Outside the sanctuary, I had a moment. Maybe if I did not enter, it would all go away. Maybe if I entered, the tears would start and not stop. I was given a moment to breathe, square my shoulders, walk through the full church to my place with family in the front pew.
I held my breath again through the welcoming words, opening prayers and the first hymn, willing myself to be courageous, swallowing tears.
Our children began to speak, to tell their truth, to share their experience, to express their appreciation for the man who offered them love and acceptance, who was unwavering in his total support, who modeled compassion and care for family as well as community.
They got him. They loved him because he loved me, and all of us together.
I felt the angels soar around me, affirming love, extolling our covenant and commitment of 34 years.
He had included our pre-adolescent children in his wedding vows to me:
Bonnie, I come to pledge to you this day my deepest love and most tender caring.
I come not to promise, or contract, or predict;
but to enter into covenant, a relationship of trust.
My covenant with you will involve both will and spirit;
it will be larger than the words I say now could convey, for it will be lived out daily in our life together;
not set in pen and ink, but alive and growing in our souls.
I will be with you to support and comfort in all times and places;
I will look to you, as the one God has given, to be my support and comfort.
I will be with you in sickness and in health, in joy and in sadness, and our riches will be in each other’s love, we will never be poor.
I pledge and covenant these things to you and each of our family, for although I marry only you, I love and cherish those who are a part of each of us.
Friendship is the most enduring, basic part of love, and the friendship we continue to share is our most precious gift.
I will not leave you loveless or alone, for you are life to me.
From that moment of acknowledgement, I felt my heart beat stronger, my breath come easier, my smile return, and the pain of Larry’s suffering begin to ease away.
This July 12th, the memory bank kicked in. Of course, I couldn't stay home. As I boarded the plane I felt that finally I was not only flying away from memories but toward embracing a new adventure.
I experienced this week “commemorating,” living life that brings to remembrance, honor, and respect. I spent time with dear ones, under new circumstances with the tables turned, sharing my love and presence, transforming my fears that my friend was dying from cancer to understanding, seeing for myself, that he is being treated for cancer. They have always been truth telling, loving, supportive friends who saw us through the the early years of adjusting as a family. They have always been there to share experiences, staying connected through compassion and love.
It is good, one year later, to come full circle, to the place of shared grief, recalling memorial words which gave honor, acknowledging acceptance of the struggle to recover, and living life as a celebration of loving and being loved.
