A kiss on a rose, a final goodbye

The supervisor of the crew operated the large compactor with a degree of control that can only be obtained with much practice.  Dressed in uniforms reminiscent of long ago, their dark green pants and light green shirts made me think of how Grandpa probably looked when he was a young man working a shovel in San Diego.  The crew worked and operated in a sense of reverent efficiency that would have made my Aunt proud.  As I stood there watching the operator compacting this dirt I could not help but think of my Aunt standing in this same spot as a 34 year old mother of four watching this same dirt be placed over her first love.  Staring at the beautifully etched stone chosen with the image of the Los Angeles Temple where they made promises to live eternally together.  The pain that she must have experienced as she looked at the blank side of that stone. Returning alone to the life they had built together, to a pillow that once held his head and to step forward as a single on a path planned for two.  Without a detail missed, the sod was placed returning the ground to its original state, surrounded by neighboring headstones in this hill of anonymity.  The beautifully etched headstone, shining in the sun marking a reunion much earned.  The same dirt that once fell to signal a closed chapter in her life, had fallen one final time, closing a chapter in mine.


On the way down that steep hillside to my car, I think to my beautiful wife.  The unbridled love that we share, our small children and the life we are building together.  I think to my priorities, my desire to build and grow wealth, to achieve, and leave a legacy for my children that allows their life to be easier.  But a legacy of wealth, much like a castle built in the sand, just does not endure.  The rains fall, the winds blow and the tide rises.  True legacy is valued by our ability to impress upon our souls, the living legacy of those from our past.  Yes, to add one stitch at a time to the incredible quilt that has been worked on and passed down from those we have loved and lost.  To be a living beacon, like the gold etching on that dark stone that family is the treasure of greatest value, that they are eternal, and stand as the only heirloom that we will ever need.  The only inheritance that is not designated in a will of paper, it is granted in fullness to all who try to be a living memory of the teachings of the great characteristics of those we have loved and lost.


As I entered the large room where we had all gathered to eat and celebrate, I stood back knowing that Aunt Eva would be well pleased at the outpouring of love and sacrifice shown.  To the woman who would always try to attend everything, there is no better tribute paid to her.   


I could feel my body weighed down with the baggage of this closure process, each step was heavy with emotion.  But I am not concerned about the emotional weight, no, I am much fearful of the weight falling off with each step I make going forward.  I am scared of a day when I will not remember much at all.  Small details like her love of turtles, to staying on her floor during trips to Disneyland, to this little turtle hair spray device in her bathroom.  And big details like the way she embraced me every time she saw me and her willingness to come out in the heat of summer in Disneyland, just to come embrace my boys the same way.  A love that I admit to not fully appreciating, like a spring of water that I thought would never end, I let far too much of that precious water hit the ground.  What I wouldn't give for one more drop from the source of this love.


To these memories I do not want to let go, I want to stand still so nothing falls off.  I want to pickup every little piece that falls off on my journey.  But I know my Aunt well and her life is a beautiful story of healing.  She would not see much value in standing still, forgoing bits of the future to save bits of the past.  She continued forward in life opening herself up to love and eventually finding it in Don.  A man who always stood by her and helped her as they traveled to share their love with family across this country.  My Aunt understood that life was to be lived, that some steps are hard, but you are not truly living, unless you are moving forward.  She left to us this legacy of love, sewn eloquently into this hodgepodge quilt that we call our family.