Aim High

She drives past me slowly. 

This cemetery is tucked neatly in the mountains of Portland, the roads curve and meander first low towards the newer sections then circling back up the hill, high towards the original well established parts. She goes down the hill a bit and parks her little Subaru near one of the steeper portions in the area.

It takes her awhile to get out of her car and then she hobbles, slightly bent, up a strip of grass with a pronounced upward slope. Its not easy for her to get to the top. When she gets there she pauses to steady herself, perhaps catching her breath, then bends over to lay a small bouquet of flowers on the plaque. She stays in that hunched position for quite some time with her two hands on the cold plaque that bears the name she gave her baby boy.  She places a couple of Easter eggs near the bottom.

She stays there for quite awhile as the sky reflects her grief and lightly cried with her.

He was 46 when he died. A linguist for the Air Force, who was credentialed in 4 languages and fluent in 12.  He traveled the world and sought out adventure.

Rest in peace soldier. You are on your momma’s heart.

Happy Easter momma. It sounds like your son was an amazing human who lived life on his own terms. I hope his buddy Flapjack lived a long, happy dog life.

Comments

  1. Grief endures, as does a mother's love.

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  2. A truly beautiful reminder that love lasts forever.

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  3. He sounds like an incredibly gifted person. Such a huge loss. I can't imagine a greater sorrow than the loss of a child of any age.

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  4. So young. A friend's brother died on Friday and was buried yesterday. He was only 35. I've been thinking a lot about his mother. Heartbreaking.

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