Sunday, March 30, 2008

Lindsey's 35th

March 30th - Linds' birth launched spring.

She left when she was 33, two weeks after that birthday, so it's two years gone. Linds and I were a year and 10 months apart, which means (quick math) I was almost 35 when Linds died.

Which feels then like some strange circle closing.

Which means?

What I gather from the circle described by two sisters turning 35, is simply that she's still here, out there, and as constant as she ever was. Her own birth constellation of Breach Candy Hospital, Ward ___, March 30th 1973 (our constellations are neighboring, in the born-in-Bombay-in-the-early-70's celestial district) remains part of the universal memory, no more or less fixed than mine and eternal. And in a way I hadn’t expected, Lindsey is growing up with me now and we're in step except she keeps pace on a cosmic scale, her perspective vaster and so she's watching over us as she grows in lightness.

In this photo (a visit to Oyster Bay and Mimi) Linds has a sureness and a calmness I like. I imagine what more years would have brought. I think that if I listen maybe I can hear, maybe Hudson hears.

Happy happy birthday Linds. Don't fall asleep in the cake.


1 comment:

Anonymous said...

My Dear Lindsey,

You know, I came here today in the hopes of just seeing you one last time, to say my last to you to tell you how beautiful of a person you are and how much you mean to me, to say goodbye, and to take a part of you with me. And though I walk and peer through the crowd, I don't see you. I listen intently trying to call out your voice or laughter amongst the crowd but I don't hear you. There is a part of me that hopes that you are late in getting here and that at any moment you will walk through the crowd.

In fact, as I look around and see the many different faces that are here, the reality and deep sadness of incompleteness sets in. We are gathered here to celebrate you and your life you are not here. This gathering is so incomplete without you.

In that realization, I give up, stop looking and close my eyes. But when I close my eyes, I see glimpses and images of you; your laughter, your smiles and your life. And it dawns on me that this really isn't goodbye and that I am taking a part of you with me for you are a part of my life. Though there may not be future memories, I will cherish the past and keep your life alive within me always.

I don't know if you remember, but I sang you a song when we all went out to celebrate your leaving San Francisco, an old Irish parting blessing. I sing it to you again today and hope and pray that it will go well with you.

May the road rise to meet you.
May the wind be always as your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face.
May the rain fall soft upon your fields.
And until we meet again.
May God hold you in the palm of his hand.

Young - 4/21/2006