Ch.204 One Year Anniversary of Pat’s Death
July 1, 2023
I thought I’d wait to get home from the cemetery today before writing, but this morning I find myself sitting at my computer in tears, needing to “compose” myself.
Yesterday I watched the recording of Pat’s funeral/celebration of life for the first time. I saw and heard much more than I did at the actual event, where mostly I was just trying to hold myself together. AnneMarie seemed confident, insightful, and connected with Pat at a spiritual level as she led the service. Cindy spoke powerfully, a natural storyteller relating scenes from Pat’s life. Joshua lovingly evoked Pat’s gentleness with prose and poetry. Jenny kindly spoke for me, voicing the thoughts I was unable to share at that moment. My friend John’s brief comment near the end of the service reminded me how Pat cared deeply for all the people in her life. After the service I watched the photo show, complete with the music I had selected (Three pieces from our time: “You’ve Got a Friend,” “Longer,” and “Bridge Over Troubled Waters”). Unexpectedly, I cried more watching those photos of Pat and listening to the songs than when I watched the service. Maybe it happened because each photo represented a specific scene from Pat’s life and, together, they spoke of her entire being here on earth.
This morning I sit and write, Levi laying on the floor beside me. I’ll take him for a walk, soon, before I leave for the cemetery. I know he remembers Pat, but I don’t think he’s perpetually waiting for his human to come home like the dog in the movie. Levi focuses upon the living, meaning he is my constant companion. But when I mention Pat to Levi, he listens, and sometimes I see his eyes soften.
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I’m back home after going to the cemetery with Joshua and AnneMarie and meeting Cindy, Mark and Chris there. Oddly, I felt more connected with my friend and family today than with Pat; I guess I’ll have to go to the cemetery myself, alone, to fully connect. But I was able to comfort and be comforted, and that was healing.
Then, around 6 p.m. Cindy called. At the cemetery I had given her an onyx bowl filled with polished rocks (Jenny and Joshua had previously received similar gifts). Cindy was looking through the stones, piece by piece, even as we talked. Each rock was different, beautiful, unique. Pat had collected them all at dozens of rock shops. And right then I felt that Pat was present, joining in the conversation, admiring each stone, pointing out their secrets so Cindy and I could witness their mysteries. Pat the magician, loved and irreplaceable.