I took my own advice and stopped by the Starbucks that is on my route to work this morning. I treated myself to a giant cup of green tea. Not only did it make the car smell yummy the rest of my journey, it was tasty and warm and just delightful. Yes, I know I can make green tea at work (and trust me, I am brewing a cup as I type this), but there was something incredibly satisfying to have the cup ready for me.
The internal warmth was needed. I have felt cold since yesterday. It wasn’t just the chill in the air nor was it the fact that last night when I crawled into bed it was 50 degrees out. I had a strange icy sensation that made me feel tired.
Today is the birth and death day of Leslie Brenan. Leslie would be 43 today. However, had Leslie turned 43, my life would be very different. The Brenans would not have opted to have another child in April of 1970 had Leslie not passed on. Had that little boy not been born, I would not have the pleasure of two other little boys.
A few years back, we started visiting Leslie’s grave. It seemed appropriate and it turned out it really did mean a lot to family since we were the only ones able to really take care of her site and check in on her. The last two years we have now made a point to also bring flowers and have the boys participate in the ritual. It is a safe and easy way to allow them to start to understand death and tradition without being too freaked out, or even sad for that matter.
After we paid out respects, the request is always the same. The boys, like their mother, like to explore the grounds at Inglewood cemetery. This year we decided to visit the mausoleum. We chose the Mausoleum of the Golden West, which was built in the 1930’s. It is truly a beautiful building, and being inside, visiting the tombs was breathtaking. If I could have given a flower to each, I would have. I love the personal touches on some of them. With placards indicating things like #1 Lakers Fan or incredibly sentimental looking rosaries hanging on them, I felt, well not to sound cheesy, but I could feel them.
They had certain sections that were glass boxes in which you could place the urn along with mementos such as pictures and other items. These were little windows into the people whose lives although were over, but certainly not forgotten. I loved these. How very intimate and wonderful for the people who created these to allow everyone to get a chance to know a little bit about their loved ones.
Sadly, not everything was touching. We came across a vault that appeared to contain what looked like it may have been a lesbian couple. Of course, we have no way of knowing, but I would like to think that despite them having passed 40 years ago, that love still happened then. This wasn’t the sad part. What killed me and angered me and made me want to scream out in the serene setting of the marble building was horrid hateful words of some asshole under their names. “Rot in Hell!!!” was scribbled in sharpie. I tried to wipe it, but it didn’t come off. We tried to report it, but the offices were closed for the holiday. Mark my words. I will have those hateful words removed. Whether the facilities do or we do so. I hate people that would be so evil.
While there, I opted to do a quick search on Find a Grave to see if there were any notable sites to visit. We checked out Ray Charles, which was pretty cool. I almost wished that the chapel music that was piped in near his corridor had been his instead.
Then began the epic search for Charlie Chaplin’s infant son. He died 3 days after he was born in 1919. “Little Mouse” was found, and I was able to place a small flower on his grave. I wish more people were visited there. This little boy will always be visited because of his father, but there are so many others there.
I have never walked through a mausoleum before. I think I have possibly been in one once, but not for a long time. We wandered the halls, and I did enjoy the experience, but truly, there was a strange cold that was consuming me while being in there. It wasn’t bad, but it did mess with me a bit later on.
The boys were fascinated with all of it. Dax did get bored, but he was a trooper. The innocence of children while juxtaposed with the serenity of death was an interesting experience.
I was greeted with a cricket hopping the deepest halls of the mausoleum. Normally I am rather skittish when it comes to crickets, but for some reason, I felt comforted by this symbol of good luck that was wandering the grounds. We scooped it up and released it outside, hopefully allowing it to live longer than it probably would in the cold rooms.
There were several statues there that seemed very virtuous in the mausoleum itself. I wish I had taken pictures of them, but my camera was dying. What didn’t make sense, was the presence of nipples on them. I am certainly not opposed to them. I guess I am silly in thinking all people consider nipples sexual. In reality, I suppose they are the givers of life, and this would explain their inclusion. It was just interesting the difference in culture from when they were probably constructed to how things are today.
Perhaps I am silly in the experience that I have when I visit these places. I have no real faith or belief in the afterlife. I don’t worship any deities aside from Kevin Smith. I am generally pretty disappointed with much of humanity. Yet for some reason, be it fear, curiosity, respect, and just a general sense of awe for the traditions and cultures surrounding death, I am moved when in the presence of such a monument to the cause.
When I was younger, I didn’t have a lot of experience with death. The first would be Ding Ding, the cat my mom accidently ran over in our driveway. I was 5, and the only thing I wanted to do was to now trace him with chalk since I knew he wouldn’t move anymore.
Beyond that, I had animals that lived incredibly long lives. I had relatives that lived long lives. I was the only person I knew that not only still had both sets of grandparents, but also a great grandmother still alive and well.
In high school, I dealt with the first person I sort of knew who died. I played soccer with her. I have always been bad with names, and even when they announced that she had passed, I didn’t realize who it was until I saw her picture. It was surreal to think of a girl about my age having been killed.
Next would be Brandy’s mom’s passing. She was so young. It didn’t seem fair or right. She still needed to be here. She still needed to be a mom to her two daughters. How could this spunky woman be brought down? Death was starting to piss me off.
I created life in 2004. I had a little life form growing in my uterus as I visited with Granddaddy for what would be the last time. His beaming smile when he acknowledged my words about my condition was one of the happiest and most cherished memories I will have in my life. Although he would die 2 days later, I felt like he was ok with it. I brought joy to the man, and for the first time, I was ok with death. Granddaddy would visit me in my dream soon after, and he and I sat in a garden around a pond. He told me how proud he was of me. He told me he loved me. He told me that he was happy. I felt connected to my dead grandfather, and it gave me comfort and peace. Death, although cruel, was not always bad.
Since that time I have experienced the loss of all but one of my grandparents. I have lost an aunt and uncle to ruthless cancers. My darling pets have come to the end of their lifespan, many while being stroked lovingly as Dr. Steinam brought them peace. Although every time I cry, and every time I feel sad, I also have felt that it would be ok.
The only time I have questioned this was with Doug. His death was the most brutal in my life. I had only just gotten him back in my life for him to be taken so suddenly, so violently. I still have questions, and I know I always will. Although he visited me, it was not direct, and he still seemed confused at what had happened. This bothers me greatly, but at the same time, I try to take comfort in knowing that at least I got to be his sister while he was alive as opposed to finding out he was gone before I got a chance to know him. I have heard that there sometimes is anger after a suicide. I don’t know that I ever got angry. I have blamed myself, despite advice not to. The thing that allows me to move forward is knowing that once again, death is not always bad. It isn’t always well timed, nor is it dignified, but it is something that we will all deal with, and how we choose to deal with it will dictate how we live. I choose to love the dead I have known, and even to honor the dead I did not have the pleasure of meeting. It is a peaceful approach that allows me to be somewhat centered, at least in my own off centered self.
No comments:
Post a Comment