I Will Think of You

When you are gone
The birds will come
With memories of today
Lit upon their wings
And I will think of you

Many days will pass
But I will remember you
When the birds come
Bearing the gift of sweet reverie
And I will think of you

There will be a time
When the call will be undeniable
I will hear the voice of Eternity
I will heed its call
And I will think of you

When I am gone
Birds will visit where I lie
Perhaps find someone to remind
Of the days we have had
And they will think of me

Death and Travel

Today we talked about a lot of stuff, considering I am not much use at doing anything hardly. One of the things we talked about is death. She is, at times, still stricken with paralysis, when the subject of death arises. Some of it is connected to her papa's health struggle and journey, I think, having her mortality issues coming on over a year, or so, ago. I asked her if she was afraid of dying, she said no. This is good, but her little heart is so heavy with the thought of losing her mom or dad.

I told her about when I was about her age and sat with my dad in the dark night, because I couldn't sleep, and he was the only one up. He has always been so good to talk to, so I was able to talk without as many words as others people. I related how I felt, but that it was good to talk to my dad about it, because it helped take some of the weight off of my heart. I encouraged her to talk to me, and assured her that what she is thinking and feeling is perfectly normal.

On a lighter note, we also discussed travel. I asked her where she'd like to go and, to my surprise, her answer was China and Africa. I mean, really? She says she wants to go to Africa for the cheetahs. I told her that I want to take her to Alaska, Mexico, and France. In Alaska, there is fishing, camping, beauty, and so much more. In Mexico, I told her of beaches. In France, I reminded her that is where Giverny sits, awaiting visitors and artists.

We can dream, right?

Memory Eternal, Anna

I got an email from my mom a few days back about a long time family friend, who has been battling with cancer, on and off, for years, was nearing her end in this life. My mom asked if I would go represent the family in making our peace and saying goodbye. In all honesty, I ought to have made my appearance sooner, when we could have had a one on one conversation, instead of a one-sided one, due to her coma. Somehow, it escaped my mind completely, for a couple days, until I was abruptly reminded, then realized I may be too late, when her niece posted that they did not expect her to live past yesterday morning. The nurse was amazed that she was still around in the afternoon, resting in her bed, overlooking the beautiful yard full of color.

I went to church in the morning, fully anticipating that I would not have a chance to see her, and resigned myself to God's will, that if I was meant to be there, it would be, and if not, I might find acceptance. After church, I met with a couple of ladies from knitting to get some much needed needles to finish my dad's sweater and to knit for a few, then I came home to get Katherine ready for a birthday party. I got the message, in between all of the hubbub, that Anna was still with us and that I may come by whenever I can and that they'd contact me if she reposed before I arrived.

I didn't see any sense in dragging everyone over there, as I was capable on my own, and I wasn't sure what to expect, but that Katherine had the party planned for quite some time, which things turned out just fine in the end. After bringing them by the party, I gathered my things and my courage and set out to the unknown. It had been ages since seeing Anna, and most of the family, so I wasn't sure what to expect. On the way, I called my mom (don't worry, I have a cordless earpiece, it was as safe as having a passenger in the car talking). I told her I was on my way over and what the prognosis was. She said she was glad to know I was going and to please give hugs and kisses to everyone, in her stead. Anna and my parents are from the same generation and it is Anna's brother, Fr. Ambrose (then, Fr. Alexei), who baptised my whole family. We chatted for a few and I expressed how I felt like I was going there without anything to offer, to which my mom said they would just be glad I came. She asked if I had a little icon in the car to maybe lay there with her, so I took the one of the Theotokos.

Faith was there to greet me and show me in. Fr. John, from St. Herman's was sitting there next to Anna, with Peter, her husband nearby and I think there was one more, too, perhaps her sister, Justina. Fr. John got up to leave and I asked a blessing before he left, then I sat there next to Anna's right side. Most people began moving about, with things to attend and Faith stayed there with me for a few minutes. She said she was going to go out for a few minutes and then come back. I expected people would be in and out of there, perhaps staying for some time, but I realized they had all been there regularly, up to that point. I noticed that I was left with Anna in quiet, without so much as a sound, besides her breathing.

I sat there quietly for a few minutes with a hand on her arm, trying to gather some thoughts to articulate, because they say she could hear us. I began by telling her that I was sorry I hadn't come sooner, but I was grateful to make it when I did. I was back and forth between crying and talking. She lay there so peacefully and I found that felt helpless. I had nothing to give, so I told her I would do my best in praying for her, though it could not ever be enough. As I calmed to a quiet solemnity, I realized I hadn't seen anyone in awhile, but that I wasn't about to leave her alone. I decided to tell her stories of our family, both my own little family, as well as, my parents, brothers and sisters. She seemed to respond to a few things I said, as much as a person in a coma could do. When I related that our anniversary is the feast of Sts. Joachim and Anna, she opened her eyes most of the way. I wasn't sure of how much she was aware of, so I imagined that it was reactionary, but perhaps not completely intentional, but it seemed she was communicating with me. Soon Ian, her nephew, and Justina came back in to check before going, or resting. We were all talking and said they were so happy to see me, asking how the rest of the family is doing. We chatted a few more minutes before they went back out again.

A couple more people popped in momentarily, but I was mostly left to sit and talk, or keep the silence. After getting through the current family events that seemed pertinent, I looked over and saw a Psalter sitting on the table next to the bed. I leaned over to retrieve it, aiming to read her something to fill the quiet for a bit. I told her how it came to be my favorite psalm, then proceeded to read it aloud. As I read psalm 27(26 septuagint), it seemed to bring new meaning to it. It nearly made me cry, but it also offered strength and purpose to the moment. When I was finished, I set it back on the table, to linger in quiet just a little more. Her son came in with a friend of hers, so I gave her my seat, as I recognised this was quite obviously my cue. I gave Anna a hug, kissed her head and told her how we love her.

I recall there were moments, when we sat peacefully, that my heart spoke to hers, assuring that we'd carry on and that I could see her in her boys. At that moment in a person's journey, laid in wait for repose to consume, the people around you seem to reflect all that you have given them. There were pieces of laughter, a smile of recognition, but mostly, there was a quiet blanket of love that seemed to encompass everyone and everything. She has brought God's love to her family and friends, which was more evident in that glimpse, than ever before. What a blessing to witness.

As I left the house, I thought a bit about everything. It occurred to me that I was able to be there with Anna, while everyone else took an hour to relax, because someone else was on watch with her. They ate, slept, made phone calls to other family, all the while, Anna and I kept one another's company. I am grateful to have been a part of their relief and to have had something to offer. Glory to God! Maybe they imagined they were giving us time together, which was true, but I think it was useful for them as well.

This morning at 1:10 a.m., she passed from this world to the next and is without the bodily struggles anymore. May she find rest in a place of coolness, a place of green pasture, where there is no sickness, sorrows, or sighing, but life everlasting.

Wayfaring Stranger

I am a poor wayfaring stranger
While traveling through, this world of woe.
But there’s no sickness, toil or danger
In that bright land, to which I go.
I’m going there to see my father
I’m going there no more to roam;
I’m just a going over Jordan
I’m just a going over home.
I know dark clouds will gather round me
I know my way is rough and steep;
Yet beauteous fields lie just before me
Where God’s redeemed, no more shall weep
I’m going there to see my mother
She said she’d meet me when I come;
I’m just a going over Jordan I’m just a going over home.
I’ll soon be free from earthly trials,
my body sleep in the old church yard,
I’ll drop the cross of self denial and enter in my great reward,
I’m going, I’m going there to see my Savior
I’m going there no more to room,
I’m just a going over jordan.
I’m just a going over …


Be at peace, dear Anna. May your transition to the next life be quiet and peaceful, surrounded by those you love. They all have reflection of what you have given them and will care the spark of life and love from your heart into every place. May your memory be eternal in all you love.

Old Previously Unpublished

This is an unfinished bit that I wrote sometime ago, maybe 1.5 years. I thought I would repost.

I have been thinking about death a lot lately, prompted by two separate funerals. The first was last thursday, a dear old man, the servant of God, John, who lived quite a life as he fought in WWII, had a family and was a devout Christian. I think there is much to be said for how a faith reacts to and treats its dead. Since we knew John, it was more touching to be present there. Fr. Boris left after communion the sunday prior to go see him, he announced that John was on his death bed and to please pray for him. It was barely a couple hours later that John's soul departed him and his body laid there without breath.

Monday there was a Pannikhida, or Requiem, service for him and another on wednesday when his body was brought to the church before the vigil for the feast of the Circumcision of Our Lord. Following the vigil, the Psalter reading began for the evening. There were pairs of people signed up to read the Psalter over the body as we await the funeral service the following day, I had the 4-6 am shift. Although I did not sleep well, I was well enough to pop out the door and make it there on time. The church was dimly lit with few candles, one in hand for reading, some at the foot of the coffin and another next to the icon of his patron, St. John of Shanghai and San Francisco. The time went quietly by amidst the trading of reading, but what a wonderful tradition to keep, the psalms are so very human, yet they are what the soul speaks.

After the Liturgy, the church was full of many family and friends for the service. The choir sang, the priest prayed and the deacon petitioned with prayer to the Lord our God to accept his soul into His eternal kingdom and to give him rest. There was a swell of emotion as the music and words gave picture to the lamentation of the people. At the end, though I care for both Elizabeth (the widow) and John himself, I found myself imagining that it was not he who was in the casket, but my own dad. I know it may seem strange, but I could not help it and it is not so far from what will be some day, we will all enter this path at one time or other. All the things that ought to be said or done came rushing into my mind, but none of them seemed to be words that needed to be said, but rather action and a few tears welled to the surface as I tried to shove them down.

Fr. Boris announced that it was time to give the last kiss and that since we know that the soul and his guardian angel were present there with us, we make our peace, one final goodbye. We venerate the body, as we are made in the image of God. He held a large cross in his hand, and icon of his patron saint was laid in with him and a simple crown of paper with prayers on it. I stepped down from the kliros (where the choir sings) and made way for the line to venerate one last time. Elizabeth was first, as it should be, and as she held his hand and pressed her face next to his everything switched and that is where I was consumed by the love of this woman for her husband, her love, her life and everything she has known for decades has changed. I imagined saying goodbye to my dearest love and we have not even have a whole decade together, I cannot imagine her sadness after so very long. It is all as if to say, "Good bye dear husband, father and friend, we will miss you incredibly but may you rest now, in peace, may he lead you beside the still waters..."

Everyone said their goodbyes, which includes Fr. Boris, and his prayers at that point made me think a little. The part that stood out was where he referred to John as his spiritual son and it had never occurred to me that for Fr. Boris, it is as if he is losing a child of sorts. A prayer was rolled into a scroll and placed in John's hand and the body was then dressed with a facial shroud and one for the body, followed by a blessing in the sign of the cross in oil poured out over him. The coffin was then closed and taken out to the car for the transport to the cemetery as the choir was singing, Holy God, Holy Mighty, Holy Immortal, have mercy on us!