A Bone-Deep Sadness.

Yesterday and today I attended Gabriel’s visitation and funeral. It was good to be with family. It was good to be of service. I had an uncle staying with me. I drove to and from the airport three times in three days. My family was strong and still vulnerable. I have much to learn from them.

It was a beautiful ceremony. Catholic, but without pretense to preach dogma. Simple ceremony, simple words. When we reached the grace itself, it was in a field of children’s graves. It never occurred to me that I’d see a field of stones with only one date on them. It is among the most desolate things I can ever remember seeing.

I am tired of all of this dying; too many loved ones have gone recently. I look for something regenerative. Someone I’ve been talking to about the program is making wonderful progress, though they cannot necessarily see it yet. It is so hard to see the forward steps we make at the beginning. Sometimes our most meaningful steps forward feel like retreating: admitting failure; honest defeat; accepting that we haven’t lived up to our own expectations. I wish I knew how to convey what illimitable triumphs these are.

I hope I learn from these tremendous people in my life. From leveled, ashen-faced parents and grandparents, burying their own. From a lost and weary new traveler on the road to sobriety.

Part of me wants to rage. Part to laugh. Part to weep. Each part has had its hour. And hours will turn to days. Wounds scab and slough and scar. I share in the strange majesty of each signpost passed with a friend new to the road I’ve been walking. A head bowed by grief rises with resolve.  And I take another step. And it’s easier than the last one. I am not alone.