To Live And Die In Chicago
On Saturday, September 18th, I got up early to drive to St. Louis for my show at Y98. I stopped at the post office to pick up a present sent by my dear boy. A long awaited book, Something Rotten, the latest in the Thursday Next, Literary Detective series. After gleefully skipping out of the post office and piling into my car for the 4.5-hour drive south, I drove down a few side streets to get to Western and hit I-90/94. I don’t remember what the streets were (I knew I should have written it down immediately…) but somehow before I got to Western, I saw something that has haunted me ever since. [NOTE 10/9/04: I took Granville to Western]
It was about 8:15; very early for a Saturday if you don’t have someplace you HAVE to be. I crossed an intersection and to my left: there was a man standing at a grave in a cemetery. His hands together in prayer; not clasped, just together. I don’t remember if his head was bowed, or if he was looking up or if it was at an angle at all. I was driving and I had to look at the road but that image was just so arresting, unexpectedly out of nowhere that I almost hit something in shock. Not because it was out of the ordinary (though it’s not something I see every day) or weird. Just because it was a snapshot of someone else’s life. SO intimate and private, I felt badly for even being there. I felt like an intruder, and I was just driving by.
It was not a fresh grave so, whoever he was paying respects to had to have been there for some time. Who was it? What did the deceased mean to that man? Why was he there so early? Was it a birthday or anniversary? How often does he go? Why does he go? How long has the missed person been gone? Does he grieve and hurt still, or does he feel better when he visits the grave? Does it give him a sense of closeness to the deceased?
I have so many questions about that scene. Was the man at the gravesite feeling guilty? Was he somehow responsible (or feel responsible) for the deceased no longer being alive? Were there things he wanted to say and never did while that person was living?
I guess the questions I have are really a reflection of what I would feel…
What have I not said that I want to and for whatever reason can’t choke it out? To whom do I need to direct attention now that they are still here? If someone I loved was suddenly taken…what would I wish I had said/done/not said/not done? How can I possibly let the people that I LOVE with everything I am and have, know what they mean to me? How grateful I am for them? For being themselves and allowing me to be part of their lives? I never feel like I can do/give/be enough for those I love. Every day/phone call/letter/message is too short, inadequate to express my love and gratitude. What can I do better? How can I be better? How can I stand at a graveside not filled with regret and unfulfilled wishes?
It was about 8:15; very early for a Saturday if you don’t have someplace you HAVE to be. I crossed an intersection and to my left: there was a man standing at a grave in a cemetery. His hands together in prayer; not clasped, just together. I don’t remember if his head was bowed, or if he was looking up or if it was at an angle at all. I was driving and I had to look at the road but that image was just so arresting, unexpectedly out of nowhere that I almost hit something in shock. Not because it was out of the ordinary (though it’s not something I see every day) or weird. Just because it was a snapshot of someone else’s life. SO intimate and private, I felt badly for even being there. I felt like an intruder, and I was just driving by.
It was not a fresh grave so, whoever he was paying respects to had to have been there for some time. Who was it? What did the deceased mean to that man? Why was he there so early? Was it a birthday or anniversary? How often does he go? Why does he go? How long has the missed person been gone? Does he grieve and hurt still, or does he feel better when he visits the grave? Does it give him a sense of closeness to the deceased?
I have so many questions about that scene. Was the man at the gravesite feeling guilty? Was he somehow responsible (or feel responsible) for the deceased no longer being alive? Were there things he wanted to say and never did while that person was living?
I guess the questions I have are really a reflection of what I would feel…
What have I not said that I want to and for whatever reason can’t choke it out? To whom do I need to direct attention now that they are still here? If someone I loved was suddenly taken…what would I wish I had said/done/not said/not done? How can I possibly let the people that I LOVE with everything I am and have, know what they mean to me? How grateful I am for them? For being themselves and allowing me to be part of their lives? I never feel like I can do/give/be enough for those I love. Every day/phone call/letter/message is too short, inadequate to express my love and gratitude. What can I do better? How can I be better? How can I stand at a graveside not filled with regret and unfulfilled wishes?
posted by Chicago Socialista | 3:58 PM
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