It was late October in Tennessee. Abnormally warm for the time of
year, as evidenced by the abundance of ladybugs that flittered everywhere
throughout the backyard.
My girlfriend and I stood talking across the
fence that separated the neighbor's yard from Mary's. And yes, although the funeral was the next day, it was still Mary's yard. Everything still
reflected her name, her presence, her life.
As we spoke to the neighbor about when and
where the ceremony was to be held, the ladybugs seemed to swarm us in the most
innocent and inquiring of ways. Landing lightly here and there; on the nearby
trees, the fence railing, even on the three of us as we talked.
* * *
December had come; it was now cold enough that you could
see your breath in the air. My
girlfriend and her brother had decided it would be good for all involved that
one last Christmas be spent at Mary’s. No it wasn’t an effort to reach backward
for nostalgia, but rather an effort to extend her memory forward. So we went, my
girlfriend and I from Arizona, loaded up our three dogs, and spent 22 hours traversing
the country to return to Tennessee.
I found myself on more than one occasion walking through
a near-empty house and noticing how empty it felt without her there. I can only
imagine what her own children thought, or how deeply this notion might’ve affected
them.
I will remember
many things about this trip: the frigid temperatures that 12 year residents of
central Arizona have long forgotten, the great times spent with a marvelous
family I am lucky to be a part of, one of our dogs eating 31 (of a 32 pack) of
Crayola crayons, the generous friends and acquaintances that have helped so
much throughout this grim process, the copious amounts of food and drink that
was consumed, the way frost-covered grass crunches under footfalls, and the
laughter. Moreover, I will remember this as a trip that encompassed all good
things; honor, memory and love.
However, one memory stands out to me the most on the
night before our departure. The day had been spent loading furniture, cleaning,
and the demands of other backbreaking work. We had nearly collapsed in what was left of
the living room; two recliners that had belonged to her parents. My girlfriend
and I were beyond weary when she called out, “Hey look!”
My view tilted downward towards the arm of my chair where
I spied a lone ladybug. The tiny insect was marching forward despite that fact
it was late December and 15 degrees outside. We continued to watch the creature
until it maneuvered out of sight.
