New Day, New Week

The Memorial for my most excellent friend Martha was this past Saturday, August 11, at St. Ignatius Church on Parker.  Beautiful church, it once was the largest church west of the Mississippi.  The Memorial was lovely.  Sad, happy, heartfelt.  People laughed, they cried, they connected.  About ten people spoke about Martha and her influence on them and on the world.  Some prayers were said, God was invoked, ashes were blessed.  There were some stellar moments, some surprises, some great food for thought.

We then went to Gabe and Annie's house for an after-memorial gathering, a wake of sorts, especially since Martha was mostly Irish and the Irish (and Italians) have that tradition of gathering and eating and drinking.  Everyone did both.  We told stories, learned more about each other, had tons of delicious food (thanks to me and Jenn and my friend Pat and Gabe and Annie) and even more delicious wine.  It went on for a long time, too long actually, but that's OK.

Now that it's over, I feel much better, like a load of heavy, wet newspapers has been lifted off my shoulders.  Not that there was a lot of "closure," to use an oft repeated word, but at least it's finished, all the planning is over and the healing from the wounds of sudden tragedy can really begin.  In all darkness there is the possibility of lightness occurring and some glimmers of that seem relatively close, at least for me.  I can't speak for my brother Steve, who has the greatest loss to endure.  I only hope it gets easier for him and I know it will take a long time for that to happen.

Martha was extraordinary, not because she died but because she lived.  It's too bad we don't appreciate the extraordinary people in our lives when they are here.  We should.  If Martha was anywhere near us on Saturday, she had to be laughing, she had to be happy that we all love her so much.  And always will.