a last look

When my mother died several years ago, at the end of the service the priest came down the steps to where her ashes were lying, and said to us all, “this is where we say our final goodbye.”  This was the one thing at the funeral which physically shocked me, as in, I had no intention of doing that, I didn’t want to say goodbye, not then, not ever. But after I thought about what he said, in the ensuing weeks and months, I realized the priest was right. Mom had gone on, and it was time for us to live our lives while remembering her.

My niece Alma was at that funeral and read something there. My mother told me once that she felt a special connection to this particular granddaughter, that there was a wavelength on which they communicated that was different from the rest.

I did not know Alma well. For her entire life I lived in California, while she grew up in Milwaukee and New Orleans. There are two stories about her I remember vividly, one told to me and one I witnessed.

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The second picture I have of Alma in my head is from my parents’ 50th wedding anniversary party, at the dinner where they sang a song to each other. Alma had come to the party as a stunning girl/woman of 17, and as I glanced at her, she was trembling and crying, as my parents sang. There was a sensitive, beautiful soul there,  a wonderful glimpse past the facade of the otherwise cool teenager.

As I leave New Orleans, I just regret I did not get to know you better. Safe travels, our Alma, and I’ll see you on the flip side.