It’s late morning, yesterday. I’m catching up on the morning papers, eyes growing heavy…I doze off. What’s better than a late morning nap on a long weekend…in an absolutely silent house.
45 minutes later, my sleep is broken with wet kisses. The puppies are back from their walk with Susan. Sully settles himself on my chest, drops his head and sleeps. Wally watches from the caboose position, not sure what to make of his Brother on his Dad’s chest in his rightful spot.
I watch both of them, and think of the movie Cavalry, loved it btw. Father James shows more grief for the death of his dog than for humans subject to abuse he has witnessed. The punchline of the movie, injects a pause into the routine of the long weekend.
The next thought, and what a leap it was — to this day, Memorial Day — where my wiring somehow, some way connected this sacred day, to those humans that reached out to Yiyun Li after her second son committed suicide. She spoke of the clichés: “I know how you feel.” “It will get easier.” “This too will pass.” Some were certainly most well intentioned. Many, however, were clueless at the level of despair and loss, and the abyss that Li finds herself as her new lifelong habitat. “Life is stubborn. So am I. I have conceded to make this abyss my habitat, every single day, for the rest of my life. But I shall live in this abyss only on my terms.”
I look back at the dogs, both resting now, and their unconditional love, and I flutter back to Yiyun Li.
“There is a gracefulness, when people know what it means to do things that work. A few days after James’s death, my husband and I met Christiane for lunch, and later went to tea at Bonnie’s house. Do things that work meant that we knew they were precisely the people who had the clarity to meet us where we were: they were not there to console us or to fix our problem; only, to spend a moment with us.”
I can’t comprehend the courage that the men and women who died in their Service for this country. Or, the courage of those who Serve our country today. Nor, could I begin to understand the loss that families of the fallen live with every day.
No. I have no consoling words.
I sit. I sit quietly, in their honor, in this moment, and on this day, thinking of their ultimate sacrifice, and my gratitude.
Dear David,
What you have written here is so profound and touches me so deeply that I have no words to say really… I just feel what you have written… I feel the deep emotion… And the deep gratitude… And I hope that my feelings are the same as what you were feeling when you wrote this. I think they are.
Your words have touched me very, very deeply.
This is a wonderful, and truly amazing piece of writing. There is no doubt that you have an amazing ability to express yourself in words.
Thanks so much for sharing. – Paul
Thank you Paul. Means a lot to me.
👍
👍👍👍
Sometimes it feels that the most sacred moments we experience, happen at the gentlest part of the day. Sully and Wally with their completely unconditional love, the sun introducing itself quietly, lulling you to a delicious doze. The gift of awareness that these are the special minutes and grateful that you honor them. I loved this post…
Thank you Mimi. I so agree about sacred moments arriving at the gentlest part of the day. I never thought about until you beautiful described it in your comment. Thank you.
My mind feels heavy yet so grateful for all the soldiers who died for our country. I’m not that brave and the conditions of war must be horrific. It’s great to see the kids again, Wally is still smaller than Sully and has all his colors, he’s so yummy. Maybe our next dog will be like Wally.
Smiling. I feel what you feel Melinda. Exactly. And yes, Wally has been a wonderful addition to the family. Enjoy your Sunday.
So quiet a tribute, so loud the message. Thank you.
Thank you.
Beautifully written
Thank you!
<3
Thank you for expressing such deep feelings and truths we are all learning about. Animals seem to have the ability to “go on” with their lives after experiencing death of close ones. But, would love to share how our beautiful Siamese cat, Iris, grieved noticably for 3 weeks after her litter mate and lifelong companion, also a beautiful but larger and tougher Siamese cat, was hit by a car near our long country driveway in the middle of the night. My son, who brought these cats home from school, found Zeke when he came home after his job as a bouncer up near Rutgers. I was awakened by his response–he was carrying him up the driveway. But, Iris carried on as far as we know after the 3 weeks (still tearing up from shaing this).
Awwww. Moved. Thanks for sharing Valerie.
very very moving on a day most Americans celebrate only as the beginning of summer
Thank you Judith.
There are many levels of awareness of what Memorial Day means. Nice piece of writing, DK.
Thank you Anneli.
wonderfully written.
Wally is however looking on a bit mournfully, don’t you think? It’s only because of his love for his brother that he’s not complaining. Unconditional love, once more.
This morning, I followed a documentary about a Swiss mother, who, already living separated from her husband at the time, gave birth to twins, both very severely handicapped. She already had 2 older children. Then, the twins died with 16 and 18 years. This woman, also in unimaginable love, was able, two yrs after the death of the 2nd twin, to find a life for herself again. Her older daughter told parts of her story of recovery, all very touching and rendering me tremendously thankful for ‘my’ life. It’s good to remember the sacrifices others made for us, our country, our life, but it’s frankly not good enough to do it once an year. It should be a daily ‘thanksgiving’ to all who help us becoming the person we want/wish to be.
Comment of the Day… Thanks for sharing Kiki.