I went on vacation to Northern California this past week. My wife and I were lucky enough to ramble around Monterey, Napa Valley and the great city of San Francisco. It was a fantastic vacation - a tour of some of the grandest sights I've ever seen. For those who haven't been, I can sum it up in a few sentences: in every other place in the world that I have been, people are forced to adapt to their environment in big or little ways. In Northern California, you do not have to adapt to the environment; it is already perfect for you. All you have to do is live.
In this fantasy world of beauty and some of the best food I've ever tasted, I was able to visit my grandmother on her 90th birthday in the serene city of San Francisco. Family and friends gathered to wish the matriarch of my family the best of everything, and my wife and I were on hand to mark the occasion. Only, the day began in a very odd manner.
On this particular day of supposed celebration, my father, my grandmother, my wife and I all went to visit a cemetary. This may seem moribund and not a little odd, but it was a trip made by request by my grandmother. My father had purchased a cemetary plot for my grandmother a while back, and for reasons I won't get into, my grandmother wanted to go out to see it (and see it with her son and grandson).
So, on an absolutely beautiful Northern California day in October, we travelled out to a huge cemetary in Colma, California and spent some time among the dead. Under the brightest blue sky and a golden white sun, we walked amongst the gravestones, mausoleums and carefully manicured lawns. And then, we found the empty spot - Row 1, Plot 24 in a newly terraced area of the giant cemetary.
I didn't know what to say, so I remained quiet as my frail grandmother stepped forward and stooped over to examine the spot. In that moment, I felt the slowing of time and the singularity of the event. My grandmother said nothing, and my dad was quiet as well. What could anyone say, other than to acknowledge the evident? There is a duality to cemetaries, as life and the living surround the memories encased in stone, mahogany and walnut. Where does one begin to examine the strangeness of the finite life meeting the infinite end?
My grandmother has lived an eventful life, having passed through some of the most momentous occasions in the history of the world. An incredible journey she has followed, being first hand witness to the sorrow, chaos and pain of war, and also to the slow solitude of outliving all those of her generation. I could only remain silent as my grandmother closed her eyes and sighed. Perhaps she could sense her passing in the coming future.
**
On on return flight from San Francisco, we received news that one of close friends, in all her pregnant glory, decided together with her unborn child that the time had come. While we were crossing the mighty Mississippi River, our close friend gave birth to her son.
And so life continues on on both sides of the continent. God's gift to us, granted to everyone, cherished by those who can still feel the awesomeness of the power of life. On reflection, I think it is far too grand for me to stand apart and parse. Maybe the best I can do is just to bear witness and give thanks.
-David
On this particular day of supposed celebration, my father, my grandmother, my wife and I all went to visit a cemetary. This may seem moribund and not a little odd, but it was a trip made by request by my grandmother. My father had purchased a cemetary plot for my grandmother a while back, and for reasons I won't get into, my grandmother wanted to go out to see it (and see it with her son and grandson).
So, on an absolutely beautiful Northern California day in October, we travelled out to a huge cemetary in Colma, California and spent some time among the dead. Under the brightest blue sky and a golden white sun, we walked amongst the gravestones, mausoleums and carefully manicured lawns. And then, we found the empty spot - Row 1, Plot 24 in a newly terraced area of the giant cemetary.
I didn't know what to say, so I remained quiet as my frail grandmother stepped forward and stooped over to examine the spot. In that moment, I felt the slowing of time and the singularity of the event. My grandmother said nothing, and my dad was quiet as well. What could anyone say, other than to acknowledge the evident? There is a duality to cemetaries, as life and the living surround the memories encased in stone, mahogany and walnut. Where does one begin to examine the strangeness of the finite life meeting the infinite end?
My grandmother has lived an eventful life, having passed through some of the most momentous occasions in the history of the world. An incredible journey she has followed, being first hand witness to the sorrow, chaos and pain of war, and also to the slow solitude of outliving all those of her generation. I could only remain silent as my grandmother closed her eyes and sighed. Perhaps she could sense her passing in the coming future.
**
On on return flight from San Francisco, we received news that one of close friends, in all her pregnant glory, decided together with her unborn child that the time had come. While we were crossing the mighty Mississippi River, our close friend gave birth to her son.
And so life continues on on both sides of the continent. God's gift to us, granted to everyone, cherished by those who can still feel the awesomeness of the power of life. On reflection, I think it is far too grand for me to stand apart and parse. Maybe the best I can do is just to bear witness and give thanks.
-David
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