Saturday, April 27, 2019


I haven't written in a while. I read an obituary of the father of a friend and previous co-worker today on Facebook. I wanted to leave my condolences to lift her up, as I know first-hand what it means to lose a parent. I started by just writing the same thing everyone else was writing. Yet, it dawned on me that I have the potential to say something more. The words of An Irish Blessing I once learned while in a quartet up at college came to me. I wanted to say something like that for Ann.

A Bereft's Blessing

May the memories never fade away.
May the void feel smaller one day.
May his voice stay familiar upon your ears. May you have moments full of peaceful tears.
May you find honor in taking up where he left his trail.
May your meeting be sweet beyond the veil.

When Mom and Dad died, I wanted so desperately to tell everybody about how wonderful they were. I wanted to know more about them. I found great comfort reading their journals. I felt a duty and pull to finish any of their work that was left undone.

I still miss them times even more than that. The hole and void never has gone away. And I don't want it to. It is that emptiness of them not being there that reminds me of them. And in remembering them, I remember their story. I remember their counsels and lessons. I remember good times, and the hurt. But where once the hurt brought tears of sorrow, they bring peaceful tears. Ones that cool and soothe me. I never regret those moments. I cherish them.

One thing I do regret though, and it stings bitterly. It is how easily the familiarity of their voices slip from my memory. I can't hear them. And when I do with my minds ear, they are distant and far from me. If it were not for pictures, their faces might also fade. Thank you for the pictures. I used to have an old message on my voicemail from Mom. "Jayson---it's your mom. Call me when you get this message". I would listen to it on the hard days, twice on the harder days. After the program updated, her voice was lost. I know what it means to forget their voices.

My hope is that this blessing may lift others that travel my road.

No comments:

Post a Comment


Though your faces is one reviled With pustules all that ooze Do not fear my little troll child Your mother still loves you. Your teeth ...