Fall 2016
Dear UD,
Autumn turning is glorious
in the Missouri Ozarks. I spy golds, purples, reds, yellows. I spot colors.
Colors that match the emotions of my soul. Passion, wonder, joy, sadness. It’s
autumn, and the trees weep leaves.
Autumn is here again...
The first I've seen in seven years.
Apple Butter Day, the
last weekend in October, again my first in seven years. And the first family
event that I went to where you should be there.
This new normal is
still so hard.
There are still so many
times that I want to call and talk to you. So many things I want to tell you or
Dad. The simple act of telling…something no longer possible. I wonder what you
and Dad would say about this election year. I want to listen to Bob Dylan with
Dad in celebration of Dylan’s Nobel prize for literature. I want to talk to you
about my job (another interview this month), family stories (past and present),
Laina’s gothic class (she’s reading Jekyll
and Hyde), and Lexi’s jobs at Universal.
UD, more than you knew,
you held the family together. And without you, we are splintered, shattered. We
miss you so much.
I remember autumn from
your back deck, eight years ago, and now I stand on the same deck and gaze into
the backyard. Everything is different.
No barking dogs greeted
us.
Trees
chopped down.
No
hummingbirds at empty feeders.
Old
merges with new, familiar with unfamiliar, too many conflicting images pound my
mind, bombard my senses. I am too overwhelmed to respond, to breathe...
The
whole first evening in the not-yours-anymore house where your older brother,
Uncle Bob, now lives, I couldn’t breathe, had to process.
That
night I slept in the guest room upstairs, similar but different both in looks
and sounds. The computer still sits in a corner with a gentle hum, but the bed
and covers are new. And, all night I could hear music floating lightly through
the air. Unnerved, for hours, I couldn’t sleep. I imagined you, a ghost, your
spirit trapped, and I was supposed to save you. Somehow release your spirit so
you could move on. Eyes wide awake, body strung tight, I listened and plotted.
Until I realized that it must be a windchime, a new addition to a new
household. Finally, I fell into a light sleep and dreamed of once upon a time
in your house.
The
next morning over breakfast Aunt Laura confirmed that she had put up
windchimes, and I released the pent-up tension. Took a deep breath.
I
realized that, in the end, the house is still full. Cousins, siblings still
play games. Laughter and conversations still bubble and ripple through the
rooms. And, like you used to, Uncle Bob made a feast. Homemade, homegrown,
special meals. The royal treatment. People connecting and connected. All of it
filling me with peace. Uncle David, you are now gone from this home, from this
world, but your spirit and love are still here watching over us. I imagine that
you glance around and are pleased. It is good.
Love, Rach
Postscript: I started
writing this a year ago October 2016 when I was in Missouri with my family and
I went to our Apple Butter Day celebration. But I couldn't finish it then so
here it is a year later. I don't know that it's completely finished yet and I
don't know that I'm ready yet, but it's Apple Butter Day again and I wanted to
share it. Such is the life of writing, such is the cycle of grief.
