Ceramic Memories for the Weepless

**Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep - Libera**
**[MUSIC BLOG: most of my blogs are typically written with a single influential background song that is played on repeat, so to get the full effect, play the song in the background while reading the blog.]**

I'm lost for words, but I want to blog. Doing so, I feel like I can best convey these inner tensions. The musical version of the famous poem "Do not stand at my grave and weep" is playing in the background, and I'm sitting here reflecting on the live and death of my grandmother. I speak of her like she's Jesus herself, "Life & Death." I thought it was phenomenal when I found out there were musical versions of the poem, which is proudly printed on my grandmother's prayer card from her funeral. I can still remember when my mother came home and told my family which poem her and my grandfather picked out. They chose the poem because my grandmother was one who pushed moving on with life, and not letting yourself get caught up on anything. She was one who was there for moral support so you could keep going on with your needs. The last thing she would want is anyone to sit around and feel bad for her, especially since she is finally pain free. I guess that too is pretty alleviating, that it's almost an entire year that she is now pain free. She would have been only 64 this month. It's a shame because we human beings can really push 80 with decent care; but I guess everyone has their time. When I don't think about her, it's easy. When my mind is rushing with everyday business, or with simple worries, it's nice when she doesn't cross my mind. But when the parts of life where she is supposed to be there, and she's not...it hurts. It's best described like when you get extremely nervous about something. Your throat gets a frog in it, and you get a bit dizzy, almost like your body can't handle what's running through your head.

She sits everyday in my living room. There is my grandmother. We have her couch that she owned when she was alive, but across the room she sits [or lies]. She was cremated, a wish of her own before she passed. So I guess when we read that poem within her prayer card, there really is no grave, but only a ceramic box in which her remains rest forever. I would assume with the closest relation, she would like to have it that we do not stand near her "memorial section" in my house, and weep over her. Rather, I think she would like it that we reminisce and remember how great she was.

I'm pretty sure I wanted to blog more about just my grandmother, but it seems that is all my brain could muster before exhausting. With an annoyance of a headache, and weariness of eyes, I'm going to call it quits on this entry. Hopefully more to come, and not so spanned out, I will be writing again soon. In the meantime, reflect on these:

"We are tomorrow's past."
-Mary Webb

"Presence is more then just being there."
-Malcolm S. Forbes

"You do not get to chose how you're going to die. Or when.
You can only decide how you're going to live. Now."
-Joan Baez