In the spirit of Leap Day, rare-ish day that it is, I departed from my usual village routes and went for my run (okay — walk/jog/slog) at Mount Albion.
While I was there, I saw someone stop her car at a gravesite and honk. Yep, honked — right there in the silent cemetery, like 5 or 6 times. I realized I was witnessing something seemingly unusual, but it made perfect sense to me. It’s a small community and I’ve lived here a long time. Even from about a football field away (yeah, we measure in football lengths here in A-Town), I thought I recognized the honker, and if I’m right, the grave was her child’s. What warrants extreme acknowledgement more than that?!
So on Leap Day, she stopped at the cemetery on her way to work and honked. As if to say: “Hey! You lived because I lived! I’m still alive! Where are you?! Time for school! C’mon! Gonna be late! Honk, honk, honk, honk, honk! (sigh…shudder) Guess I’ll have to let you sleep today. Again.” (Did she hope that this extraordinary day would bring a different answer?)
Oh, gut-wrenching grief! You are why I run. Because I don’t know how else to bear witness to such pain, and live.
…love is as strong as death, its jealousy unyielding as the grave. – Song of Solomon 8:6b
1 comment:
That is so sweet, stirring, thought-provoking, laden with emotion, purposeful yet without a purpose, and gut wrenching. You do what you have to do to find comfort.
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