Home at last...

We are home at last after a wild weekend during which we shared the memorial service for my sister Beth.  At this time last week Hurricane Sandy was about to hit the East Coast - and while many of us were spared trouble - too many of our sisters and brothers in New York and New Jersey were hammered.  The damage and destruction has been staggering and this caused some concern that my San Francisco brother would or could not make it back to Maryland for the service.  Thankfully things worked out - for him.

My daughter in Brooklyn, however, found herself facing 6 hour gas lines in NYC and massive fear/panic buying throughout northern New Jersey.  She wasn't able to get away as planned on Friday and we feared she would remain stuck in the city.  Thankfully early on Saturday morning they found the one remaining rental car in Edison, NJ and coasted into the lot on fumes. Three hours later they got to our Maryland motel in time for a quick shower before we dashed off to the memorial service.  Lots of hassle to get to an event most of us dreaded for a variety of reasons and in retrospect it all makes sense.  (In time I will try to reflect on the event itself from my perspective.  For now let me note that it was very well organized by my sisters who also created a sweet reception afterwards that featured all of our sister's favorite foods. What's more, each of my siblings spoke with conviction, love and tenderness about Beth and for their words and deeds, I am grateful.)

I was blessed by this time with my family.  I was angry and sad and confused, too - but mostly blessed.  Everyone made an effort to get here so this became a pilgrimage of the wounded.  We gathered because in truth we didn't really know what else to do.  There was no so-called "closure" in this event for me; Beth's death was too complicated for something that neat and simple.  Besides, I said good-bye to the sister I knew and loved 10 years ago.  Still this was something we could do together - in love and sorrow - for Beth and for one another, too. So in ways I can't yet name, it mattered.

Tomorrow mostly I'm going to sleep - and rake leaves - and let my feelings seep deeper in the hope that I might understand what they are telling me.  For now, poet Jane Kenyon's words come close:

I got out of bed
on two strong legs.
It might have been
otherwise.  I ate
cereal, sweet
milk, ripe, flawless
peach.  It might
have been otherwise.
I took the dog uphill
to the birch wood.
All morning I did
the work I love.

At noon I lay down
with my mate.  It might
have been otherwise.
We ate dinner together
at a table with silver
candlesticks.  It might
have been otherwise.
I slept in a bed
in a room with paintings
on the walss, and
planned another day
just like this day.
But one day, I know,
it will be otherwise.