Valleys of Death – Absent Friends

Greetings Dear Reader,

Journeying south is always painful for me.  This time it is more so than most.  I love my family and most of those not my children live there.  I see them less often than I should and not as often as I would like.  There is a thing about growing up in the south that gets into your bones and beacons to you for life.  One cannot bleach it out with California sun nor can one freeze it out in Wisconsin winters. 

There are ghosts that haunt me from childhood and my early adult life that gain more power as the soil turns from rich black cornfields to ruddy clay.  All of the things that I learned to love about the south are anchored to my Grandfather.  I think the most painful thing about this journey is the wish that I could talk with him about my life and the things in of which I am unsure. 

Others are absent as well.  Because I have lived away for so long there have been passings of which I have not been a part.  Even the ones I loved but could not abide remind me that they are gone.  Even this morning as I stepped out into the cold humid air I could feel the chill of death that enshrouds family and friends who have moved to the clearing at the end of the path. 

I think my avoidance of death rituals is connected to my Grandfather.  He was removed from my life before he died by other family members.  I never got to say goodbye and have never developed the knack.  As I age this to will become unavoidable.  In the Valley of Death there are unwanted and unasked for responsibilities.  I know there is a layer of pain associated with all this that I have not yet tapped.  For now, I just wish that I could go down to the Flint River and sit under a tree with my Grandfather.  I toss in a line, not caring if I caught any fish.  I would tell him of my adventures since we parted and hope that he was proud of some of them.

For now, I will journey onward to visit the dying and collect the dead.  For now I will also meet family I have not yet met and love them for all that they can become.  The memories are the best definition of bitter sweet I can conjure but I cannot put them into words. 

Wishing you joy in the journey,

Aramis Thorn

Mat 13:52 So Jesus said to them, "That is why every scribe who has become a disciple of the kingdom of heaven is like a home owner. He brings new and old things out of his treasure store."