Monday, November 26, 2007
Cloud of Witnesses
Leaving for work this morning, I discovered this photo of Scott and his family on the floor of our coat closet. He'd evidently sent it to me in 2000, along with a large photo of my father as a young man: the envelope somehow wound up in the coat closet, and today, as Bali dashed inside while I reaching for my jacket, the small picture fell out. It was an eerie feeling to look down and see Scott looking up at me.
An acquaintance whose partner died last year told me that she found a poem he'd written; it was in a spot she'd gone over frequently since his death, and she'd never seen that piece of paper before. And the poem dealt with moving on after grief.
The appearance of the photograph is less mysterious, but it was still a bit of a shock.
Meanwhile, Sharon e-mailed me last week to say that she thought Gary was about the same size as her husband Bill, and would we like to come over and look through some sweaters and jackets?
So on Saturday, we did. Gary must have been exactly the same size as Bill, because Bill's sweaters and jackets fit him perfectly. Sharon was overjoyed: she said there are boxes of other clothing in the garage, and that Gary won't have to buy anything for years. She was very happy that Bill's things will be useful to someone she knows.
Bill had some fleece jackets and vests that Gary didn't want, but I love fleece, and I also like big, comfy clothing. So I snagged the fleece, although it's huge on me. I'm wearing Bill's bright red fleece pullover as I write this.
The dead are all around us, even when we can no longer see them. Every day is All Saints Day.