Terminal Gravity

We went and visited Abram's grave yesterday. We wanted to get in some more flowers before the real winter sets in, and say hello to our boy as well. I really enjoy going to the cemetery, to my surprise. It gives me the best earthly connection and contact with Abe. When I'm there, I can give pause to the day and reverence to my boy. It soothes me.

I know some people don't enjoy these sorts of visits, not necessarily in regard to Abe, but their own loved ones. That makes me sad, but to each his own, right? I think it's because they view it as a sad place rather than a resting place, I don't know. But for me it really allows me to focus on the gravity of the whole situation. As I sit there and think about Abe the dam breaks, and the flood ensues. As I claw my fingers into the grass for some sort of penetration, I feel the weight of this loss. But I think that me and Jamie both are learning how to own this grief, and that feels good. I would not wish this kind of pain on anyone, but there is a part of me that has been feeling sort of bad for people that don't own something like this. What in the heck do they think about over the course of a day? What in the heck did I ever think about? What is it people actually allow themselves to become upset over?

If I could say that Abram left us with a gift, it would be this: An eternal ocean of emotion and mystery. A fork in the road will either bring a shortcut or some lengthy, bumpy tread. I choose the bumpy route. Not because it's the road less traveled, but rather the road most feared. I have overcome any residual fear of death. Death is rebirth. You think this life is important? You think this planet gives even one nod to your moans and groans? You think you can glide on through the slick shortcut, and your caravan of wealth will somehow give you something back? Well... keep on thinkin'! The day you die is the day you learn.

I guess my point has become misconstrued. Look at it this way: Out of the 6.5 billion people on this planet, I am the only one that has my grief. I am the only one that knows it intimately and I am the only one who treasures it. It's sort of like having your own star trek holodeck. A room in which only you can step into, and you can tell it what you want to see. It reflects your emotions, passions, fears, confusion and hopes. In fact, it doesn't reflect, but instead projects. It projects the true colors of this life. It projects the real scenario, the real situation. It allows the veil to be lifted for a bit. It takes the ordinary pressures of this life and quakes them. Just as a mountain will jolt over plates, your soul will be road-rashed by life.

I miss Abram terribly. Jamie misses him equally so, if not more. Our world is like a penny thrown into a well; Dark and absent, among many. It's a world of love/hate, a world of give/take. I have to try really hard to not tout my arrogance about on this topic. I personally believe Abram to be holier than the collective thou. Why else would we have named him Abram, Father of the multitudes? Like Dylan said, "As his youth now unfolds, he is centuries old". And he is...

I'm just saying the cemetery's good! Death has a hidden gift inside the sickly, ill-textured surface. Gravity lightens, as the terminal path shows itself in golden light.