Yesterday my dad and I went to the cemetery. We cleaned the tombstone. Potted a few flowers. Lit a candle. As we stood there for a few minutes praying, the empty plaque next to my mother’s engraved one was another brutal realization. That’s his spot. It’s waiting for him. That’s were his name and dates will permanently sit for generations to come and read, light a candle and say a few prayers….
I begged her not to take him so soon. Not yet. Not yet….
This evening I went to church. Daria came with me. Then we drove to the cemetery. She insisted on going to see all the candles lit. To our disappointment there weren’t many that illuminated the darkness. It was nothing comparing to that of All Saints Day in Poland… But we still went up to my mother’s grave. It was chilly and dark. But very peaceful and comforting. Daria read the engraved words aloud.. “Beloved wife and mother. April 26, 1956- December 3, 1996.”.. “ oh so on the December 3 we should celebrate. You know, not celebrate, but we should have a dinner. And talk about your mom and who she was…” Sounds like a really nice idea, I replied.
She also asked about the empty space. What is it for? But I couldn’t quite get the words out. She thought it’s fine if it’s for dziadzia, “but when he’s like 80 something.” I agreed.
I’m having a difficult time grappling with the thought that my mother died at the age of 40 and that’s only three years away for me. I’m having a difficult time today overall seeing it all as an experience I don’t have control over, yet it’s controlling me and my emotions.
I want to live Epic. I want to live honestly and gracefully and abundantly but not too much, just enough of everything. I want to be on my deathbed, when I breathing my last breaths not to regret one single thing that I did not do …
I’m only 37 years old and why does it feel like I’m running out of time?
Yours Truly,
The Short Human Experience called Life.