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Tuesday, June 17, 2008

Community



This evening we attended a visitation for a very young woman, L, who was killed suddenly and unexpectedly in our community. The line of people waiting to see her parents and sister stretched the entire length of the large room, looped into the hallway, and doubled back. We had all three girls with us; Beatrix fell asleep almost immediately; Merry, who had been affected by the enormity of event and had withdrawn, found her babysitter and brightened; Martin took restless Elspeth into the banks of seats where they could watch a slideshow of L laughing, blowing out birthday candles, and hugging friends.

I stood in that long line, watching people in the sea of black clothes embrace one another, laugh, suddenly weep--and I thought many things. Perhaps the strongest image that came into my mind was my palm, flattened, as I stood in the garden and blew light soil from it; and the soil blew away so easily, dispersed in one breath--Fragile, was what the woman's mother said as we reached her. "We used to work all the time in the garden with our children," L's mother has often told Martin, "And when we drive by your house we remember ourselves at your age, out there with our kids, trying to plant the garden."

On the way down the stairs, Martin and I were flushed with grief for this family, and for the fragility of our own lives. Merry talked loudly about the fun she'd had seeing her babysitter, but when we were sitting in the car, she began asking detailed questions about how L died. Cool breezes filled our car; gardens of our neighbors, bright green, flashed by our windows.

We arrived late for our small community potluck at the park. Children we know well and have come to love ran around in circles around our legs, yelling bits of information about their days.

I'm saying things badly, but what I mean to say is: I am deeply thankful for my community of friends. There is so much unseen that happens between people: a friend's hand on my arm is heavy with much care and love. I am grateful. There is so much--I know as I remembered the picture of the mother and child at the visitation--an infant's sweet, soft head touching the chin of her mother--there is so much that is given to us, that we never ask for, surprises of joy--and so much taken from us as well. These people I love, who are not my family but with whom I share my daily life--they are like the branches of a deeply rooted tree, blowing in summer wind, standing solidly against a winter sky. They are those who have otherwise secret gifts and sorrows, but choose to share them, to celebrate and bear them together. All this is good, and I am thankful.

1 comment:

AppDaddy said...

Life is a fragile Butterfly, passing by us all too quickly.

It is unusual to be in a old fashioned community.

You are blessed indeed!

My heart aches for her parents.
Nothing is morre difficult than losing one of your children.

I have yet to fully recover from Ariel's friend from HS and App losing his life in the Marines Corps last fall.

God go with them, and may he give you and Martin the right words to explain the harsher aspects of life to your children when they ask you.

It is never easy, but you are both wise beyond your years.

We look forward to seeing you in just a few weeks!

You Auntie has much to show you in her garden, and tells me there may be some wine chilled for you as well.