Glimpses

Friday, February 10, 2012

Letter to Collie (GBE2 - WK 38)

Purple Sanctum - Photo by k~










I have been considering this post for several days now. GBE2 prompt: "Upset" was posted the same day I randomly found an old "letter" I wrote several years ago. It's Saturday, and another prompt will be issued tomorrow. I could just wait and let this slide, but something inside me won't let that happen. It's a little longer than what I would normally post on a blog, and a lot more personal than I am used to sharing in a public forum, but here you go...







Today was the anniversary of your death. I can still remember thinking that it was an absolutely horrid April fool's joke for someone to call and tell us you had died. What kind of prankster would find that humorous in the first damned place?

It was no joke. You were gone. 51 years old and gone. A wash of thoughts moved through me at lightning speed. I remembered your visit for Thanksgiving just a few months earlier and how happy I was that you were able to be here with us for that entire week. Peaceful times, spent reading and talking.

I remember the conversations on the back porch when you asked of me "When all is said and done, what will you remember of this day? The fact that the floor needs to be vacuumed or our talk out here in the swing?" and the answer was easy, as easy as it was to be around you. You had the grace of an angel, and the pain of wounds that would not/ could not heal.

I would remember the talks, as you knew I would. We watched the birds and butterflies flit through the gardens and planned what kind of flowers I would plant in the corner where the red twig willow was recently removed. I wanted to paint that corner purple with flowers that would bloom from the beginning of spring until winter cast its first snowflake toward the ground. You were excited with me; you said you couldn't wait to see the wonderful blossoms come to life. But you left before the "Purple Sanctum" shared its first blossom with us. I put your stone there, the brick of a name no longer yours. It wasn’t much, but it was something to hold a space for you. Can you see the flowers there now? Purple, pink, and white soldiers that dance in the winds each season for you.

Your favorite colour was purple, it was mine too. We shared a lot of similarities, so many that both my mother and your mother called me by your name more often than my own. It was almost as if we were kindred souls set sail to the same caustic waves life threw at us. You looked up to me, as some kind of strength even when I bared my soul to let you see that there was no steel rod holding me together, it was all tears and rain that fed the garden of my heart. I hung on because letting go was an unknown, not because I was brave. You saw it differently, you saw something so good in me it scared the hell out of me. My own eyes staring back at me, I saw the pain in yours, the struggle to make sense of a world that didn’t want to be understood in spiritual terms. I understood you, because I understood the pain.

You told me that week, that you had changed your middle name. I laughed with you when you explained that you had lived your whole life with a middle name you did not like and did not want to die with it too. It was your words, so many of those words I only half-heard that made me cry in the middle of a thought later when I realized you were telling me you knew you would have to go soon. You prepared for it, like so many I have said good bye to have. You didn’t want to die with it too. You knew, but how could you know, why did you not make it clearer to me? What could I have done differently?

Your only real fear was to die alone and have days gone by before anybody noticed. I understood that fear and what it really meant to let it outside of your head. You died on March 31st, but nobody had seen you for several. You died alone.

The flowers begin to bloom each year at this time in the “Purple Sanctum” to wash away the remnants of sadness and replace them with petals of life. I watch them grow and talk to you quietly under my breath, under the pine, or from the swing on the back porch. I still have the things we shared, I always will. I hope now that you are at peace and free to use the wings that God gave you so very long ago.

29 comments:

  1. Powerful memories. I don't know the relationship here, but I know there was love, respect and a past filled with goodness.
    It's lovingly written and appreciatively read. I love your heart. (((hugs))) And I am so sorry for this loss.

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    1. She was my aunt Jo, but more than that she was a friend, a sister in spirit, and one of the few people in my life that had so many intricate, seemingly miniscule things about her that we shared, it was like looking in a mirror. I miss her, more some times than others.

      Thank you for the hugs, the kindness, and time you share with me.

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  2. Ahh ...the grief we normally feel when our loved ones depart can be felt here but the acceptance and positive hope that our loved ones are on a safe place was more apparent in your writing. I love how you ended it..all I can say is, she is obviously loved and missed. Memories...it's the only thing left when a person dies.So we have to make beautiful memories while we live.:D

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    1. The physical manifestation of people is absent from many of the relationships I hold close in this life. It is about the moments that become magick as we weave our lives together. I like the way you put it "we have to make beautiful memories while we live"... it's fitting for all aspects of life.

      Thank you FP

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  3. There is nothing more powerful than words that can ressurect a soul and allow it to re enter this world in a transparent state that transcends time.
    These words, escorted by angels, were clearly written from your heart.
    Wishing you Peace as you remember her with fondness.....Marc

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    1. Marc, I really like the way you phrased that first sentence. Thank you.

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  4. Opening your heart and sharing your deepest love and affection for another person is such a personal and intimate gesture and when that heart is as beautiful as yours it is a thing of beauty to behold. Your letter is written with the true warmth of a loving heart.

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    1. Kat, I appreciate you... in ways that defy the words stuck between my head and my heart. Thank you.

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  5. This is heartbreaking and beautiful. I'm struck by the fact that you didn't say how she died and I'm wondering...was it natural? accidental? or maybe by her own hand? I'm not asking you to reveal this. The mystery you left us with makes this so much more poignant. Having suffered many losses over the past decade makes this so much more meaningful to me. Thank you for deciding to share it.

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    1. Elaine, My mother always says to me that part of losing the people you love in life that is the hardest, is losing the part of your history they take with them. I am beginning to understand what she means by that.

      Thank you for graciously sharing it with me.

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  6. There is nothing more final, more heartbreaking, more upsetting than death! I am so glad you chose to share this. It was beautifully written, poignant, and relevant to the topic. Wonderful post, thank you for sharing it!

    Kathy
    http://gigglingtruckerswife.blogspot.com/

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  7. ok i'm crying....love purple sanctum....the brick you laid in her memory...thankful you didn't shrug it off ......amen

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    1. Brenda, I am touched by your display of emotion, a gentle spirit must reside within you.

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  8. Such a well written memory, it brought back many sad memories in my life. Thanks for writing this.

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    1. pbquig, Thank you for sharing your connection to a similar feeling, and for reading here.

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  9. What a beautiful post. "to wash away the remnants of sadness and replace them with petals of life"... just beautiful. Thanks for sharing your personal memories.

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    1. Laurie, thank you for stopping by my external heart, and sharing with me in the blossoming of a writer's soul.

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  10. Ironic and sad that she died alone. Life has so many uncertainties.

    Joyce
    http://joycelansky.blogspot.com/

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  11. This was so beautiful. I'm glad you were ready to share it, and I'm sorry that you had to experience the loss of someone you clearly loved dearly. You are a truly warm and special person--I hope you know that. ♥

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    1. Thank you for your continued kindness Beth. It matters to me.

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  12. Thanks for posting something so emotionally real and personal.

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    1. Musiqual1, Thank you for taking the time to read, and share the moment with me.

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  13. Dear k~
    Please stop by my blog and pick up an award I left for you.
    Kat

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    1. (eyes grow wide... smile creeps up on my face)... presents??? OhhhHhhh (scampering off to see what the KAT drug in)

      Thank you KAT!!! :-)

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    2. Awww KAT, that really touched my heart. Thank you!

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  14. It is hard to loose someone you love--and it is rather peculiar how we only half hear what is being said to us--the things that become all to clear after our loved ones move on. This was beautifully written. I'm sorry for your loss--and I'm glad the Purple Sanctum is there to wash away the sadness. I choked up when I read that line.

    Cheers, Jenn.

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    1. I think the hard part is in the missing their presence, face to face visuals, contact in the form of hugs...

      She would like the Purple Sanctum, it's a beautiful corner in the yard, that you can see from the deck she loved to sit on.

      Thanks for reading Jenn!

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- Richard Bach

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