Posts filed under ‘Fathers’
July 3rd- continuing – Chris Ritchey
I have written about you every month on the 3rd of the month as my memorial to you – your life and your art work. A few months ago I wrote these lines in the post https://thatwoman.wordpress.com/2019/04/03/april-3rd-forgotten-chris-ritchey/
““They say you die three times – once when your body fails you – again when you are buried ( funeral) and again when you are forgotten”.
Death of the body and death of memory. When you are buried and that headstone in place is a remembrance of sorts but there’s the rub how long will that headstone last?
Most of us believe that record of our being in the places designed for such – as cemeteries and crematoriums will last forever, not so especially with the way things happen with cemeteries in recent years. This Blog https://lisanneharris.com/2013/05/12/sadly-utterly-abandoned-churches-cemeteries/ Ms. Harris has a plethora of photos from around the world of these sad places. The forlorn graves sinking into oblivion once held the tears and heartbreak of mourners who grieved over their loved ones. Even in this old neighborhood the citizens of Lorain in the past plowed under and buried the little Charleston Village Cemetery
https://thatwoman.wordpress.com/tag/pioneer-cemetery-lorain/
I read once , here you can’t reclaim or take out graves until 100 years after the last burial. But that is another law that is circumvented. I know it happened to your Great Grandmother and Great Grandfather and Great- Great Grandmother, the site was moved (although other family members wouldn’t have it) but I remember visiting those graves in a totally different area of the cemetery and one was missing altogether.
You are not dead because our love of you is alive and you are in our thoughts and dreams daily.
Your Nana was not afraid to die, she was actually welcoming her demise -99 years is longer than most get on this earth.
She had out- lived her brothers , sisters, friends of her youth. She was ready but as she sipped her tea one day near the ending she look at me over the rim of the cup and said
“you won’t forget me will you, Nikki and the children will remember they had their Nana”.
There is no headstone in a “family plot” because that is not what she wanted. Her ashes will hopefully one day make it back to “her England” , time and life permitting.
Today, I received a notification from the Crematorium in England
about your Grandfather. What a mess that was when he passed , he had gone off with someone else – had a new family – although he clung still to his old one. Due to the fact he never remarried, I was still his next of kin, the arrangements were left to me although his “woman” did orchestrate some aspects.
Then a few years on, since Nana and I were home, we went to the crematorium and I asked the office where my fathers ashes were interred. Imagine my guilt when I found out no-one had ever claimed them! I had thought his fancy bit would have, she obviously was done with him after he died. I was told his ashes were scattered in a part of the crematorium I was shown the spot where his ashes had been scattered and was told
“I could have a “tablet” positioned on the walls surrounding the Willow Garden, and are ideal for those who wish to mark the position of a loved one whose ashes have been scattered below.”
It was decided, only Nana would have nothing to do with it , didn’t want her name mentioned and went and sat in the rose garden. This is truly a beautiful place. I realized, although his work of a cross ( commissioned by the Governor of Gibraltar) hopefully still adorns the altar in the Naval Chapel there ,
there was not a permanent dedication ( well as permanent as can be in this life) but one day even that small reminder will be taken from the wall
Anyway I purchased a “tablet: and every 10 years I receive an invoice to renew the dedication, a few hundred pounds. No-one goes to the crematorium anymore to pay their respects, I am not sure anyone other than I ever did but I paid this invoice today because his name is there , the fact he lived and died on those dates is still there and he is not forgotten and he did live and he loved me and I , him
Oh his great grandson has the look of him but only I and a photograph of old realize that :
And that is why I write about you month after month for as long as I can so you know you aren’t forgotten and that you lived…….. and are still loved with every breath in my body………..
Tree of Love- Gabriel Miller- moonbeam and light 2017
A few weeks after my son passed, a good friend also felt that same terrible pain of losing her child. There isn’t much you can do or say after those initial weeks to those that have not felt what it is like to be absolutely “gutted” and whose world is no longer together. You are expected to get over it – move on- people can get impatient with your grief, you are a dreadful reminder that a loss of a child can happen to them . You have no outlet for your love that continues to grow. In the following May after Gabe’s passing from this world, Gabe’s father and mother planted a tiny tree ( supposedly a dwarf variety) in the area known as Settlers’ Watch.
Through the seasons the tree was tended with care and love ; the little tree grew . Every year Gabe’s mum and dad light the now the not so little tree- 2015 found it a bit of a stretch for his dad. This year more than a stretch was needed
and night fell on a snowy Christmas
The little tree, no longer small – grown tall- fed with love and watered with tears shone through the darkness and cold reminding us of a little boy
a sweet child – the light of his mother and father’s very being – the love that is his alone -lights for just a little while the cold dark nights.
Gabriel Miller August 17th-2009- December 31st 2009
Photos Lisa Miller – Lorain 365
The Ghost in the Pond- continued-2015
A little over three months after my son’s death I wrote of his last Mother’s Day present to me – A small Ghost Koi
https://thatwoman.wordpress.com/2010/03/19/the-ghost-in-the-pond/
I was scared to look closer , maybe it was one of the pale goldfish , we have a couple. I couldn’t bring myself to go to the pond for a better look. I can still see my son kneeling by the pond and surreptitiously slipping in that Koi . Chris would check on the Koi every time he came home , he would ask in the hospital
“How’s the Ghost has it given up the ghost yet?”I had told myself last summer I would look up how to keep this fish over the winter. Would I have to set up an aquarium for it?
I berated Chris for giving me that hassle and he just grinned at me again.I got my courage up and took a deep breath and went to the pond. Yes the Ghost Koi had survived and slides silently among the gold and the dark water .
My Mother’s Day present survived and once again I saw in my mind my son’s grin
Every Spring since then I have waited for the ice and snow to melt – holding onto the hope the Koi will be there .
2011- https://thatwoman.wordpress.com/2011/03/19/ghost-in-the-pond-deux/
https://thatwoman.wordpress.com/2011/10/17/the-ghost-in-the-pond-continues/
https://thatwoman.wordpress.com/2012/05/12/mothers-day-2012-gifts-and-ghosts-a-fishy-story/
https://thatwoman.wordpress.com/2014/05/10/a-ghost-of-remembrance-mothers-day/
The disaster of taking down the Willow tree and changing the pond habitat .
The terrible cold of the winter before this when the waterfalls cracked and a temporary pipe was added to keep the water flowing in order to keep the fish alive during the bleak winter months.
This year Chris’ Dad winterized the pond once more. He insulated and wrapped the pipe, the pump and added another back up. When everything, including Niagara Falls, froze the little pond was open. His design worked , even Shadow could not be party to its demolition.
The birds that stayed, the animals wild and domestic all flocked to my little water source in order to drink and bathe. Still, I worried about the Ghost – he has become rather large- the biggest fish in the pond and will have called the pond home for 6 years.
Finally this weekend saw the end to ice , snow and frozen ground- a splash of gold and silver as the fish returned to the surface to feed and bask in sunshine – and there he was larger than ever- the reminder that love given freely that Mother’s Day reminds the world the Ghost existed and exists…….
March 3rd- feeling the energy- Chris Ritchey
The domain in the garden past the pond
is a place I don’t frequent- it was and is your father’s “area’ and like his basement not a place I care to go or for which to take responsibility. The Weeping Willow hid a lot of his sins- but that too had to go last spring.
I still kept to my end of the garden and closed my eyes to the time it was taking to get the garden back into some sort of order. The truth be told I no longer had the “energy to fight the blight” that is the male idea of “need.
But one day , late last summer , I could stand it no longer and I had to do “something’ to tidy up. I moved the wrought iron trellis which had been leaning up against the garden wall. I positioned the trellis by the side of the garage over the curve in the pathway by the boat. Hopefully this would hide the “boat” from my view, a job the Willow did so well. I took the grape vines that were in abundance and tied them up on to the trellis. Then, as I precariously stood upon the step-ladder, I turned toward the garage to tie in the next side of the trellis. My eyes became fixed , not really taking in what I was seeing – they saw where you had left your name in paint on the garage wall.
Unexpected, as it was, the effect was instantaneous I felt my knees buckle , my breath catch, and those eyes that have cried so many days and nights filled once more with tears. I was transported back from the present once again, in the memory of my mind, to another place and time where once again we walked, talked, hoped and waited in vain for a cure ………..no work of art ever touched me so profoundly as that signature .
Oh! the explanation is simple enough you were , that spring , helping your father to paint the side of the garage – but everything went wrong – cancer and chemo put paid to painting but not before you had taken a brush and used your energy to write your name in the old paintwork.
Your father told me that he couldn’t bring himself to paint over your name so there it has stayed these many , many months, unbeknownst to me, as I never venture past the pond if I can help it. .
I can still see the energy you used in the writing of your name , the pressure of the brush to wood, the adding of paint to the brush as you proclaimed “you were here at that time” .
Not being an artist or an art critic, I was always a little perplexed when I would hear ” the energy of the brushwork”- but here it was – not a Van Gogh or even a Boccioni http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Umberto_Boccioni
or Julia Watkins https://www.facebook.com/pages/Energy-Artist-Julia-Watkins/69027658560
Just a young man on a warm spring day leaving his mark on the garage before he painted over it -something that never happened. Yet, seeing your name, left there these many months brought home once more how I much I still love you , a love that grows and doesn’t diminish , miss you, your laughter and your energy
My heart is in pieces and I miss you more than life itself………. and yes it is “Hard” harder than I ever thought possible to bear.
Gabriel Miller- a light still reaches into the darkness
Gabriel’s Last Day by his mother- Lisa Miller
http://bustershouse.wordpress.com/2013/12/31/gabriels-last-day/
This post from Lisa is honestly and terribly beautiful in its torment and shows a mother’s love for her child- and how those that grieve try to walk upright- her last two paragraphs are ones that every mother who has lost has experienced …
As I walked through the automatic doors of the CICU [cardiac intensive care unit] for the last time, the hallway appeared to stretch itself out before me, becoming endless. I stood up a little straighter and set out to make that endless walk through the hospital and across the street to the safety of our room without completely losing it in front of everyone along the way. Little did I know then what good practice that was going be for my new future.
* * * *
It has taken me four years to tell you the story of Gabriel’s last day. I remember every moment of his final two weeks in the hospital – and especially his death – as if it just happened. His death literally took my words away and society reinforced my silence as a condition of being allowed into the land of the living. After all, the grieving are so much easier to deal with when they keep their sorrow to themselves. 😕I was reminded of that by a relative on Christmas Day this year. His boisterous “Merry Christmas!” greeting to me was met with as much of a smile as I could muster and I said “Something like that. Thanks, same to you.” He quickly responded “Well, this is a happy holiday for everyone else.” I sarcastically thanked him for that friendly reminder and went on to endure being a spectator to the festivities (again) and being reminded at every turn who was missing (still). Merry Christmas and Happy New Year indeed. 😐
2013
2012
https://thatwoman.wordpress.com/2012/12/30/gabriel-miller-a-child-of-light-remembering-the-smile/
Gabriel’s smile was bestowed for a just a briefness of time , but it remains in the hearts of his mummy and daddy . They, in turn, share with us a small smile sparkling in the darkness, given to those that pass a certain spot where a tiny tree brings light for just a little …… remembering the child of light …………
https://thatwoman.wordpress.com/2012/12/30/gabriel-miller-a-child-of-light-remembering-the-smile/
2011
https://thatwoman.wordpress.com/2011/12/31/gabriel-miller-the-missing-moonbeam-2011/
As this year passes once more it is a reminder there is a missing moonbeam, whose silvery light is lost to our world but the spark that flared into a flame of love brighter than any ray of the sun continues to burn in the hearts of those that loved their moon beam and basked in the light of his smile
2010
https://thatwoman.wordpress.com/2010/12/31/a-year-passes/
December 31st with song, laughter,food, fireworks and noise makers they will not notice a small light is no longer shining this year.
But in a home in Lorain, a mother and father dread this New Years Eve, they will not celebrate because all the fireworks, lights in the sky cannot make up for the “light they lost” – their precious moonbeam -who shone so brightly for just a little while and radiated such love and truth as to shame the dark.
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