November 11, 2003
My aunt's wake over the weekend was noisy, and not the least of the noise came from the back of the funeral chapel, where my cousins and I sat in a circle, comparing the status of our various kids, ailments, and retirement plans. I'm a little envious of several of my cousins. One of them wasn't even there because she and her husband were on a cruise to Bermuda. Another (along with her recently-retired husband) is building a house on an island off the coast of Florida, where they both will be spending lots of time when she retires. (I can barely manage to take a week off in the summer and go to Maine. But the good news is that they said I'd always be welcome to come and stay with them any time I want -- when I'm free to do that, of course.)
For all of the things that my cousins and I DON'T have in common (I gladly moved away from our home town and associated values when I was 17 and continue to only go back for weddings and funerals; they all still live within easy driving distance of each other), our overlapping childhood memories seem to be enough to keep us feeling connected. Something about blood. And shared histories. And they make me laugh. (I guess that, unlike me, they inherited the genes that make their brains produce lots of serotonin. I’m envious of that, too.)
The noise closer to the front of the chapel comes from the murmuring of all of the aunts and uncles – all in their late 80s and still living within easy driving distance from one another and most still driving as well – holding court with my mother at their center. They haven't seen her since the last funeral, which was about 6 months ago. It's a family reunion, a time for poignant reminiscences.
They huddle together propped up on canes, walkers, each other. Occasionally they laugh and they wipe their eyes. They wipe their eyes a lot, even when they're not laughing. The ask each other which one of them will be next.
Over in the back of the room, we cousins wonder as well, in the moments between our story-tellings, wonder how long it will be before we will become the teary-eyed ones sitting in the front.
The Waking
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I feel my fate in what I cannot fear.
I learn by going where I have to go.
We think by feeling. What is there to know?
I hear my being dance from ear to ear.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
Of those so close beside me, which are you?
God bless the Ground! I shall walk softly there,
And learn by going where I have to go.
Light takes the Tree; but who can tell us how?
The lowly worm climbs up a winding stair;
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
Great Nature has another thing to do
To you and me; so take the lively air,
And, lovely, learn by going where to go.
This shaking keeps me steady. I should know.
What falls away is always. And is near.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I learn by going where I have to go.
-- Theodore Roethke
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