As I ride home from my Uncle Paul’s funeral, I can’t help but think about
what a strange week it has been.
It has been a week full of travel, grief, reconnection, and
memories. Walking into the
church for the funeral, I was flooded with so many memories. This is the space where we had first my
grandma’s and then my grandpa’s funeral.
This is the space where my Goddaughter had first her Baptism and then
her First Communion. This is
the space where many cousins got married.
It’s weird the ties we have to spaces. A friend once asked me where my holy
ground is or has been in my life.
I considered how in high-school my parish was my sanctuary. It was a safe place to be; a place and
a community in which to bring my fears, my sorrows, my hopes. Circle R Ranch, my camp, was once such
a place of belonging, of safety. I
remember often sitting on the fence, watching the fog roll in, breathing in the
cool, crisp air, feeling settled and grounded. As I have gotten older, St. Ben’s, Haiti, Russell-Glover
Farm and the Boundary Waters have all been my own personal holy ground. Mostly, however, I think about home.
My parents’ home has been my sanctuary for as long as I can
remember. I never feel lost
there. Whether I’m living there or
just visiting, somehow being home settles me… it brings me peace, comfort, a
sense of release. This could
possibly be my last season of living there and as the time of me leaving
approaches I realize it is accompanied by a tinge of sadness. As my parents and I get older, it dawns
on me from time to time that one day our home will no longer be our home. We’ll say good-bye to this space. I expect that saying good-bye to this
piece of holy ground will bring as much grief and loss as saying good-bye to a body.
It is difficult saying good-bye to the body of someone you
love; even when you trust and believe that their spirit lingers and lives
on. We will never again see that
body smile or move. We won’t feel
the warmth of that body’s embrace. We won’t hear that body speak. The spirit will live on and yet somehow
the body will no longer be ours.
We mournfully say good-bye to Paul’s body and hopefully trust
that his soul remains at peace.
I’m glad that I am here and that I got to accompany my mom
on this journey. There is sadness,
regret, and fear here, but there is mostly love. Love of siblings, parents, children, cousins, grandparents and grandchildren, nieces
and nephews, aunts and uncles.
Love of souls, of bodies, of spaces.
