Handling the Memories

My walk was much like the last time through Barbour Woods and up Haystack Mountain. The day was unseasonably warm once again, though the fallen leaves made clear the time of year. The weekend prior, the weekend of my brother Pete’s death, I sat on Davidson’s Rock near the end of my walk, reflecting on how fast Cindy was declining. This time after I came down from Haystack Mountain I deliberately avoided that landmark, instead turning onto the road that brought me directly home. I plan to visit Davidson’s Rock one more time in my life, but that time is not now.

On this walk the theme for my thoughts was about handling the memories that stem from death. Frankly, I am predisposed to handle death well. Part of the reason was an essay by Loren Eiseley I read in my twenties, about how early humans handled death much better than civilized humans. Later on, my own research into early nomads drew a similar conclusion. Add to that my situation as the “mistake” in the family. I accepted that my parents would pass away fairly early in my lifetime; I accepted that my brothers likely would do so as well. I’m touched by the well wishes of folks in response to Pete’s death, people really are kind, but I’m way beyond thinking about timely death as a tragedy. Untimely death is another matter.

I once thought I would handle Cindy’s passing well. Maybe I will, but this feels so much different than my parents or brothers. Who would have thought she would go before me? Even now that I have had much time to accept and prepare for her passing, this seems too untimely. A story Cindy loves to hear me tell others is about the pastor in Great Bend, Kansas who took us out to dinner. People were telling him about seeing “a young blonde and an old man walking into town.” Yes, she delights in me sharing that story. Cindy still looks like a young blonde, I still look like an old man, yet I’m the only one between us who might pass through Kansas again.

I indeed plan to make a journey where I revisit some of the places Cindy and I have been together. The main purpose will be to spread her ashes in a few special places, for the symbolism and for the memories. Wherever I sprinkle her ashes will be the last time I visit that place. With a few visits, like Davidson’s Rock and Mount Katahdin, I will be memorializing the place as much as the person.

Near where I turned onto the road from Haystack lie the graves of my parents. Their graves are well within walking distance of our house, the house I was raised in, the house full of our memories together as a family, yet I’ve only visited their graves once. Every day I see the pictures of Mom and Pop hanging above the landing to our stairway. I am content to have their memories become like background music to everyday living, rather than disrupt everyday living with an intense focus on their memory by visiting their graves. I consider myself fortunate in that way.

I hope I can handle Cindy’s passing in a similar way. She is so much a part of me that I do not need to pass her picture on the wall everyday for her memory to become like the “background music” to the rest of my life. Memories of her will be with me whether I am at home or on the trail. Yet I suspect some memories will prove too intense to keep revisiting. That is why I plan on only one more visit to places like Davidson’s Rock and Mount Katahdin.