My uncle died last night, He had been in the hospital for the last month. It wasn't looking like he was going to make it so I had been preparing myself for it. Got to see him right before he passed away.. was weird because he was pretty much out of it .. drugged up... not cognitive at all I thought. I said to my mother I was going to go. It was too much for me to see him like that. As I moved to go ... he all of sudden came back and was talking again.. he looked at me and opened up his arms to give me a hug. I didn't even think he knew I was there.
Life is so strange.. you go around thinking you have all this time.
Best memory with my uncle.. when I was a kid he took me to the first Seattle Supercross in 78. The smell of 2 stroke filled the Kingdome and I got completely hooked on Motocross from that point on.
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| When sorrow lays us low
for a second we are saved
by humble windfalls
of the mindfulness or memory:
the taste of a fruit, the taste of water,
that face given back to us by a dream,
the first jasmine of November,
the endless yearning of the compass,
a book we thought was lost,
the throb of a hexameter,
the slight key that opens a house to us,
the smell of a library, or of sandalwood,
the former name of a street,
the colors of a map,
an unforeseen etymology,
the smoothness of a filed fingernail,
the date we were looking for,
the twelve dark bell-strokes, tolling as we count,
a sudden physical pain.
Eight million Shinto deities
travel secretly throughout the earth.
Those modest gods touch us--
touch us and move on.
Jorge Luis Borges | |
5 comments:
I'm Sorry Troy.
An Irish Funeral Prayer
Death is nothing at all.
It does not count.
I have only slipped away into the next room.
Everything remains as it was.
The old life that we lived so fondly together is untouched, unchanged.
Whatever we were to each other, that we are still.
Call me by the old familiar name.
Speak of me in the easy way which you always used.
Put no sorrow in your tone.
Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes that we enjoyed together.
Play, smile, think of me, pray for me.
Let my name be ever the household word that it always was.
Let it be spoken without effort
Life means all that it ever meant. It is the same as it ever was.
There is unbroken continuity.
Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?
I am but waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near, just around the corner.
All is well. Nothing is hurt; nothing is lost.
One brief moment and all will be as it was before.
How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting, when we meet again.
thanks Kim ..
the Irish Funeral prayer is a good one.
my respects t.
cool story............keep writing.
tc maybe you should fill one of those Russian Orthodox incense burners with two stroke for the funeral? You could walk behind the coffin wafting the holy smoke. RIP
BP
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