Easter Saturday

Today is a day of quiet contemplation. I want to be alone with my thoughts and wrap myself in this veil of mourning until dawn. I busy my hands while my mind dwells where it wants to be.

When was Palm Sunday?  I missed it. Was it last Sunday?

After wringing every last drop of life she could out of this world, my aunt died at the Cleveland Clinic last Sunday night. The call came at exactly midnight, but I already knew she was gone because a strong sense that my grandmother was waiting for her had already washed over me.

On Thursday, we committed her body to the earth.

I did not “share” on social media because I did not want to hear (or read) any of whatever you call words that people say when other people die, words that I myself have been guilty of saying. I have learned that a simple “I love you” is enough. Or, better yet… type < and a 3 together to make a heart.

Today, I prepare for my own little sunrise service.



First Ink

Ye 20 years ago, my Aunt said, “Nancy, will you go to church with me tomorrow? Then after church, we’ll go out to eat and stop and get tattoos.”

I said, “Okay.”

And that is what we did. She got roses on her ankle; I got this on my left calf at Big Ed’s in Damascus. Then we ate meatball splashes at some place down in Lisbon.

first ink

Of course, my legs were prettier back then even with the surgical scars.

My mother flipped in disbelief – she kept asking if it was one of those temporary stickers – and my oldest cousin flipped on his mother by giving her a stern lecture on the dangers on getting tattoos.

She is 85 years old now and still as spunky as ever.

I went to see her in the ICU yesterday. Doctors gave her a choice: do nothing OR fly to Cleveland for a risky procedure. There are complications, but she is a fighter. She opted to fly.