A Year Has Passed

A year Has passed December 5 2009




Pea Soup Dec 2 2008

I talk and talk. I try to listen,

To hear what I need to hear,

To learn what comes next, what to expect.

But no one tells me anything.

Maybe I talk too much. Maybe I look as though I know what

 I’m doing, as though I’m “coping beautifully.”

What does that mean?


I feel blanketed in thick fog,

A white-out .

I look about, and see nothing --.

As once high in the Alps, alighting from a Sky-Tram.

Snow everywhere, all white – falling, underfoot, surrounding on all sides.

If I move, will I fall off an unseen edge?

Will I lose the inn that looks so ghostly it might disappear?

I have no idea where to turn;

No safety, no path, no knowing --

--Nothing. All blank.



Reflection December 5 2009

Again, winter weather arrives – perhaps some snow tonight. I’m thinking back a year, realizing that last year, I went through the holidays in a stupor, shocked, newly bereaved. This year, I’m feeling your absence, I think more painfully than last. But last year was blank, whited out.

I’m preparing in a few days to spend 8 days in New York, in a whirl of activities, friends, and new experiences. I’m glad. As with the trip to Tennessee on the anniversary of your death, it will be a way to lay new memories over the scar of emptiness from a year ago.

I also realize, suddenly, that a year ago today, we held your wonderful party, with friends and family from all over the country celebrating your life and love. Meeting with some of your good friends in New York this coming week will give us a chance to reminisce about that peak experience.

You had always loved giving parties. You cooked for days and put out the good Rosenthal china and the crystal glasses (I must make a party sometime soon, and use the good party stuff that has sat, lonely and forgotten, filling kitchen cupboards, since we moved here in 2006).

Your friends filled your marvelous 13th Street loft – it looked like a page from "House Beautiful" -- glasses clinking and conversation murmuring, as succulent odors wafted and the crackling, cheery fire in the fireplace warmed and lighted the room. The 20 foot high ceilings reflected shadows from the conviviality below, and the ten foot windows on all sides reflected back the warm firelit clusters of friends enjoying each other. The front door stood open, with the warmth, murmur, and smell of good food spilling out onto the elevator landing, so that when the lift doors opened, its occupants were drawn immediately into the circle of cheer. Someone had once called you the “Pearl Mesta of 13th St.,” a title you adopted immediately and remembered proudly til the end of your life.

You had told me often that when you died, you wanted, not a funeral or a memorial service, but a “splendid New York cocktail party like the ones I used to give.” You wanted all your friends here – and they came. Very few of us had been to your memorable parties, but we got together and put on a party of which you’d be proud.

The house was full. The fire crackled in the fireplace. Conversations purred, glasses and bottles clinked, food was abundant and savory. Our hearts were full of love for you – love that we shared, that spilled over so it suffused all of us.

Thanks to Russ and Wayne, your friends and family members who were spread out across the country – those who had not been able to travel to North Carolina to attend in person – attended your party via closed circuit television, and we were able to talk with each other through this electronic link. We celebrated you in style!

Remembering back to a year ago today, to your Party, brings back to me now, on this cold, lonely evening, the love and cheer that we felt that day.

I sit in the chair you gave me, in the family room that has now been changed totally since you left, in front of a gas fire, feeling isolated and alone, but the cheer of that party echoes in the dark alcoves of my mind, and I know the love survives.



Party Eve Dec 5 2008

Convivial.

Friends and family from next door and out of town.

Plans, excitement,

Rented glasses and plates stacked high.

The eve of Ellen’s oft-requested

Memorial cocktail party.

She saw packed rooms, gourmet food,

Perfect rob roys and martinis,

A “classic” party, as she was proud of giving

In her beloved New York loft –

Moved now to this more gentle place she came to live,

The South. Suburbia.

Tears will flow amid the cocktails,

As we delight in having shared her love.



Your Party December 6, 2008

It’s over. The house was full,

The bar active, the food abundant, a Feast.

New friendships budded and old ones swelled.

I know you joined us as we celebrated knowing you,

Rejoiced that you’d been born,

Wept at losing you.

I wore your scarf, your earrings, your bracelet,

The jacket you gave me.

They made me feel closer to you,

Armored with your strength,

Embraced within your love.

We made the party you had pictured,

Knowing that its love would draw us all together

In a warm circle -- friends.



SPIRIT GIFT December 7 2008

What happens when many people meet

To celebrate the life and love of one

Whose path has led beyond this life?

Jesus told his friends to gather in his name and he would be with them.

When they did, they were transformed.

I always thought that only happened if you were God.

Yet, yesterday, your loved ones came together,

Shared one room, one breath, one feast, one toast --

Blessing. Honoring. Remembering. Learning.

You too were here,

Present in our hearts and minds.

Your spirit lifted ours above our daily fears.

We communed -- a sacred moment,

A hint of bliss to come

When we too leave this life,

A moment of unity with what Is.

We will always remember that we shared

Your special moment, your party,

Your gift.