It seems like the images that keep cycling through my head are the ones that belong in a song. Seeing that I have no rhythm or melody in anywhere except my headphones I'll save the work and put in onto my keyboard.
Seems like the man that I wanted to influence me least because I didn't know where his heart lay, still got himself into my DNA more than I knew.
I watched as his wife of 60 years kissed him on the forehead, as I had done moments before, told him goodbye. The words muttered were out of my range and it seems as if I wanted to keep it that way. Maybe promises that won't be broken, or words of comfort. Security in finding herself a new life that will take care of her the same way he had for the decades before.
Death is a funny thing, it forces as much impact on you as you let it. To sit and think about what you'll be missing is your choice. To bring up memories, keep pictures displayed, is a decision. I choose to keep the images because I think with everything that makes you grieve, there are 3 things behind it to make you learn. Learn to be better somehow, for someone. The lessons that they may not have spoken will be ringing loud in your ears.
I choose to remember everything. The feel of his signature sweater on his back when I hugged him goodbye, knowing that's exactly what it would be. The same texture touching my fingers as I grazed his arm as he lay quiet. Not knowing how much I wanted to feel. The cold skin and bone touching my lips as I wished serenity upon him. Hours before the family gathered and my words were the only ones coupled the one who carried no weight to them. Is this how they saw me? Is this how they saw him? Is this how they see Him?
We chose his faith for him. Those that want an easy way out will give credit to his heart and integrity as his ticket. For myself I call it a secret. I fear of falling into the pattern and category of those that blasphemy His name. It may be years or eternity until I know the answer but we all say what we want someone to tell us one day.
