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This blessing is a question

Just a thought I'm throwing out….

It is actually less a blessing

than something to think about…

Although it is inevitable…

for death we cannot defy…

If we remain in the hearts of those we leave behind

do we ever really die?

When a friend of ours dies…who in our life has played a part

it is with the deepest sorrow we add thier tombstone to the cemetery in our heart.

Why her? Why him? Why now? We asked ourselves as we desperately try to cope

for a while we are thrown off balance…our life is out of focus…we lose our hope.

There is no right or wrong way to confront death…despite what the experts say

we’ll struggle through our sorrow…our grief…and all the while we will pray

for strength and courage and guidance as we solemnly whisper their name 

knowing the life we knew up to this point…will never be the same.

It’s as if death has infected our bodies in an instant…overnight…

and our world…once awash in color…has turned to black and white.

At first their memories are fresh…and our sorrow may paralyze…

but then while cloaked in sadness…we begin to realize

they would not want us to remain sad forevermore…

and we try to go on living…the way we lived before.

Slowly with the help of our family and our friends…the healing process begins

and over time, with their help, the color seeps back in.

And we find a place for those we lost in our memories 

next to the memories of others who in our life played a part 

where we can visit them as often as we like…in the cemetery in our heart.

It’s a quiet, solemn place that has no complement…no parallel

the final resting place where our memories go to dwell.

Where we can walk among them any hour…any minute of any day.

Where the ones we’ve lost forever…are never far away.

We never know when our grief will end and when the healing process will start

But we can take some solace knowing their memories 

will always have a quiet place to rest

in the cemetery in our heart.

A favorite memory of her grandma began before she could even say a word…

In her Grandma’s backyard, sitting on her lap…tossing seeds out for the birds.

It’s where her love for her grandma and birds began…where her imagination first stirred.

It’s where (I imagine you can guess what it was) she uttered her first word.

She remembers Grandma saying, “We only feed them seeds…we never feed birds bread.”

It’s where she learned her colors…blue, black, yellow, green and red.

It’s where she learned to count…it’s a memory that lingers….

how some days there were more birds in Grandma’s yard…than she had toes and fingers.

She remembers Grandma saying, “I live in this big house on my own…

and when you’re not here…with all these birds…I never feel alone.”

Her mom was worried about her on the day of her grandma’s funeral… 

she hadn’t said two words.

Until, at the cemetery, she pulled a bag of seeds out of her pocket saying,

“This is for the birds.”

“What do you mean?” Her mother asked as handfuls of seeds were thrown.

“It’s to remind the birds that Grandma’s here…so she’ll never be alone.”

Now, whenever she visits her grandma’s grave…she kneels down…

she whispers a few words…

then she plants some flowers for her grandma…

and spreads some seeds out for the birds.