Salt and Pickles

I will have to come back later and post about pregnancy and the fact that I only have about 5 weeks left and all the things I have left to do and all the nerves i’m fighting (hmmm.. why is the inside of my cheek all chewed up . i broke that nervous habit years ago!)

I missed my cousin Patrick’s memorial and I was pretty much the only family member to do so. Everyone understood, but I really wish I could have been there. My mother sent me what she wrote for and read at the memorial and I am forever amazed by my mother and the beauty she has inside. It’s very beautiful and made me cry. I want to share, in case anybody else loses somebody and these beautiful words I think can be a bittersweet balm.

From my mom to patrick:

“It’s a wonderful, wonderful opera, except that it hurts,” Joseph Campbell said of life.

Yes, this life, this opera is wonderful. And yes, it does hurt. We are here facing one of our biggest challenges: the loss of Patrick, our cabaletta, our bel canto, our aria; Patrick, our light, our love, our shining moment.

In The Hero with a Thousand Faces, Joseph Campbell explored common themes in our search for meaning, our search for self, our search for the hero within; and he exhorts us to follow our bliss.

Patrick’s search was brief but incandescent. He set out on his quest to find and follow his bliss, and he found that the life he ought to be living was the one he was living. Patrick was seeking the experience of being alive, and he felt the rapture of being alive. If “ the privilege of a lifetime is being who you are,” Patrick was privileged; he was who he was—not whom he thought he should be, or as others were, but uniquely and beautifully Patrick. And we are privileged to have been a part of his large and vibrant world.

Patrick. Running down a path in Yosemite, yelping in astonishment and delight, mouth open wide, dazzled by lapis sky- icy snow melt stream- regal grey stone- sharp pine scent.

Patrick, singing the loudest, laughing the longest, hugging the hardest.

Patrick, reflecting solemnly and musing in solitude.

And this life, this opera, hurts, because Patrick’s moment was so brief.

The heroes of the myths knew sorrow. In the epic poem Beowulf,
a king
… begins to keen and weep for his boy; he can be of no help.
The wisdom of age is worthless to him.
Morning after morning, he wakes to remember
That his child is gone; he has no interest
In living on, now that his son
Has entered death’s dominion forever.
He gazes sorrowfully at his son’s dwelling,
The banquet hall bereft of all delight,
The windswept hearthstone; the horsemen are sleeping,
The warriors under ground; what was is no more.
No tunes from the harp, no cheer raised in the yard.
Alone with his longing, he lies down on his bed
And sings a lament; everything seems too large,
The steadings and the fields..

In our biggest challenge, in lamenting the loss of our Patrick, when the world as we knew it has been silenced, and life around us seems too large, how do we find deeper powers within ourselves ?

Campbell wrote, “Find a place inside where there’s joy, and the joy will burn out the pain. Participate joyfully in the sorrows of the world. We cannot cure the world of sorrows, but we can choose to live in joy.”

We will mourn; we will weep; we will feel forever the hollow that was filled by our dear Patrick. And we will laugh, and remember how he made us laugh; and we will hold each other and be joyful that we knew him.

Perhaps our sorrow will never be burned out by joy; but we can enjoy our families; our friends; babies yet to be born; we can enjoy our meals together; enjoy sky, mountains, sea, growing things; and we can joyfully love the memories that are Patrick.
We can realize what play is, and follow our bliss.

We can participate in this wonderful, wonderful opera, this opera that hurts; this opera of life. We can, as Patrick did, sing the loudest, laugh the longest, and hug the hardest.

Patrick—good night, sweet prince, and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.

——————
My mama gives Patrick a kiss at our wedding:

Patrick sings his heart out at our wedding (instead of kissing at the clinking of glasses, we kissed if people sang a song about love):

my friend Rachel and Patrick ham it up in the photo booth: