In Blackwater Woods
by: Marty Oliver
Look, the trees
are turning
their own bodies
into pillars
of light,
are giving off the rich
fragrance of cinnamon
and fulfillment,
the long tapers
of cattails
are bursting and floating away over
the blue shoulders
of the ponds,
and every pond,
no matter what its
name is, is
nameless now.
Every year
everything
I have ever learned
in my lifetime
leads back to this: the fires
and the black river of loss
whose other side
is salvation,
whose meaning
none of us will ever know.
To live in this world
you must be able
to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold it
against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go.
Oliver lists the three most important things every person on this planet must do: 1) love what is mortal; 2) hold on to that mortal thing as if it's a matter of life and death; and 3) let it go when it's time to let it go. Of course, one of the he hardest life lessons to learn is the third one.
Think about it. I've been a breathing being on this planet for quite some time, and you don't get to be my age without experiencing loss in some form. Saying "goodbye" is just as important as saying "I love you" or "thank you" or "I'm sorry" or "I accept the Nobel Prize in Literature." As you get older, you have to say "goodbye" more and more often. Attrition starts to define your existence.
Of course, goodbyes don't have to be sad affairs. Goodbyes can be celebrations, as well. I've been to my fair share of funerals, and I've noticed that the term "funeral" is not in vogue anymore. Nope. Most funerals I've attended in the last ten or so years have been called "celebrations of life." A nice sentiment, but I think that term whitewashes the occasion, caters to the instinct in human beings to avoid or sidestep death.
Death. Grief. Loss. These are all parts of the human experience. Not particularly pleasant parts, but parts, nonetheless. If you love something/someone, you will eventually lose that something/someone. It's inevitable. And it won't be easy. It will suck, possibly for a very long time. Maybe even for the rest of your life. Grief does not have a finishing line. You don't just wake up one morning and think, "Okay, I'm over that." It would be wonderful if it were that simple.
As I said, though, goodbyes can be joyful, as well. One of my favorite funereal traditions I heard about from a Cajun friend is having a brass band escort the casket to the cemetery while playing "When the Saints Go Marching In." In that case, the goodbye really does become a celebration of life, full of clapping, singing, and music.
Letting go. It's tough. No getting around it.
If any of Saint Marty's disciples are currently grieving, be consoled by this fact: even after the darkest of rainstorms, there will always be a rainbow.
❤️
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