The box was much smaller than I expected.
And plainer, no decoration, no sparkling wrapper.
I stared at it as it sat on the table.
That small box surprised me.
Could everything really have fit?
All the memories?
All the love and disappointment and concern?
And yet, I couldn’t deny it.
I ran my hands over the smooth sides.
Should I open it? Could I?
I took a deep breath.
I could do this. I would…
Such a small box
And this is all that was left
of a life so big,
of a story so bold.
I looked inside
at the plastic bag
at the remains of what had been
and would be no more.
My mother’s ashes…
(for Janice and Dorothy, who helped make our lives wonderful)
Another death today
Yes, she was older.
Yes, she had been sick a while.
But the sadness is still heart rending
the emptiness is still a raw hole.
I know death is necessary.
I know it is inevitable.
It brings pain and sorrow,
but it also gives us an opportunity.
It gives us a chance to cherish
all the memories we have left.
It gives us a chance to celebrate
a wonderful life that was.
I long to touch the Sacred
to be moved by the Holy
to feel connected to the Divine.
But it’s not happening…
I do pray. I do sit.
I do plead and beg.
And then I do despair.
The only voice I hear is my own.
The only light that shines in my eyes is this electric lamp.
The only warmth in my heart is circulating blood.
So, should I conclude there is no Sacred,
no Holy, no Divine?
Or, just perhaps, I am looking at this all wrong…
Could it be that my voice, my eyes, my blood,
are actually the miracles, the connections to Creation
that I have been aching for?
Could it be that the Divine has been here all the time…