October 20: "Grave," Dead People, Sally

I know I'm not the only person who speaks to dead people.

For some reason these last few weeks, my sister, Sally, has been on my mind a lot.  I don't know why.  I've had dreams about her.  I wake up in the morning thinking about her.  At night, as I'm falling asleep, I can almost sense her close by.  A couple days ago, I whispered her name, told her how much I missed her.

Billy Collins visits his parents . . . 

Grave

by: Billy Collins

What do you think of my new glasses
I asked as I stood under a shade tree
before the joined grave of my parents,

and what followed was a long silence
that descended on the rows of the dead
and on the fields and the woods beyond,

one of the one hundred kinds of silence
according to the Chinese belief,
each one distinct from the others,

but the differences being so faint
that only a few special monks
were able to tell them all apart.

They make you look very scholarly,
I heard my mother say
once I lay down on the ground

and pressed an ear into the soft grass.
Then I rolled over and pressed
my other ear to the ground,

the ear my father likes to speak into,
but he would say nothing,
and I could not find a silence

among 100 Chinese silences
that would fit the one that he created
even though I was the one

who had just made up the business
on the 100 Chinese silences--
the Silence of the Night Boat

and the Silence of the Lotus,
cousin to the Silence of the Temple Bell
only deeper and softer, like petals at its farthest edges.

I haven't gone to visit my sister's grave, although I drive by the cemetery on a fairly frequent basis.  She's not really there.  I know that.  Aside from my close family and friends, not a whole lot of people I meet on a daily basis remember Sally, which is strange because she was such a huge presence when she was alive.

I suppose that's what it's like when most people die.  They sort of fade away to the point where you can't even remember what their voices sounded like.  Even their faces may become indistinct.  Pretty soon, the dearly departed are just . . . departed.  

The holiday season was my sister's favorite time of year.  She loved the decorations and movies and music and cookies.  And she spoiled people with presents all the time.  I've never met a more generous, giving person ever.  If someone she loved was in need, she helped them out.  A couple times during my married life, I found myself unable to pay my bills.  Sally recognized when I was struggling like this, and, quietly, without any expectation of acknowledgement, she would hand me an envelope of money or transfer funds into my checking account.

That's who Sally was.

I don't know why Sally has been so present in my mind recently.  She's been gone from my life almost ten years now, but I hope, if I'm ever financially stable enough, that I follow her example:  giving without receiving, loving deeply.  Always.

Saint Marty went for a walk this evening, just as the sun was setting.  Lots of purple and pink.  Sally would have loved it.