Valleys of Death – Collecting the Dead

Greetings Dear Reader,

I am sitting in a Chick-fil-A; one of my favorite places to eat in the world.  It is a southern thing that I cannot get in my northern home.   As I begin my journey home, back to the place that is home to me now, I first make a final stop.  You have heard of me speak often of my Grandfather for whom I hold a love so deep that I wish the entire world could feel that love.  I write about him often and the lessons he taught me in our short time together do much to inform my faith and my view of mankind.

He was taken from me abruptly and cruelly when I was in a very serious storm of development.  A single phrase uttered by a thoughtless adult had me thinking for years that his death was my fault.  His loss still echoes inside me when life is hard or when I am in the south.  His son, my father is the focus of my day today.

My father left when I was three.  I saw him again when I was eight and then when I was a young adult.  The last time I spoke with him was twenty years ago.  Today I go to collect his ashes.  I am amazed that I was as damaged as I was when I learned of his passing.  I am astounded that I grieved as deeply as I did.  I suppose that I had always hoped for some type of reconciliation in the end. 

Today I will gather the earthly remains of my progenitor and carry them home with me to provide a proper resting place for him.  I do this mainly to honor my Grandfather as it is what he would wish.  There is something sadly poetic about the eldest son coming to collect the remains of the father who begat and abandoned so many children.  My spirit hovers over an abyss that I rarely plumb.  There is little that I can do to defend from the raw pain that is there.

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."