You said that when a person's gone they're gone- and that's it. A wahabi till the very end! But you were wrong on that, old man!
You made me promise you not to get old. Well, I've tried. Now I won't see you get older, but it's okay. Guess it was your time. But we had so many good years- and for that I'm grateful. Well, on your way then. I know that since you always looked out for us even now you're trying to find a good place for us.
I know your heart is true.
My heart is still, as time will tell.
'But your dance is ended
so sleep on and take your rest, my father, my Jew.'
No, not even Denise gets it.
I will always remember you dancing, almost hopping on one leg, arms outstretched, about to fall, free, not knowing beginning or end, with those deep sorrowful eyes. So, dance or rest in your own way, as you pass down that sorrow to me.
2 comments:
On Growing Up
It has been said that it is only when we lose our parents that we finally become adults ourselves. If that’s true, adult-hood was only achieved by me very late in life - my father died twenty-five years ago, when I was in my sixties. And maybe it’s true, in the sense that when I think of him what I remember most vividly is the childhood years I spent with him, and what is also true is that, far from my memories of him fading over the many years since his death, I think of him more and more. I begin to have a better understanding of his life and, in particular, of how he related to me and I to him. Only now, in the light of my own life experiences, can I begin to interpret the complexities of his life, the practical and psychological challenges he faced, and the ways in which he sought to meet them.
So now grief has become a part of me and, far from a bereavement, feel it as a comfort, a reassurance that his life and death are no more, nor less, insignificant than my own.
Ubi atquale, Lewis Grenfell Huddy (1914 – 1995)
Thank you for the comment, dear C.
I don’t know, I think the last lines are too negative, too ‘western/modern’ for me. Martin Buber: do not forget that every Man is a king ( from memory). Every life is significant ( even if we’re only dimly aware of it).
I don’t think it’s * just* about reassurance but a deeply held belief (‘yaqin’..certainty) that this life is just one part of the story. So, in *addition* to sadness I have a profound gratitude for the long and good years we had together and I have prayers for his soul. In that sense it’s not just how he related to me but how that relation continues through prayer.
I’ve got Denise Riley’s book on grief and may read it later. She’s so intelligent!
Salams,
b.
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