Saturday, July 25, 2009
London, ON, April 2008
Nothing ever really ends. It may cease to exist as we know it, but eventually something else will rise in its place. Even the old tree trunk around the corner that we walk past every day has its own sense of continuity. The obviously large tree that once stood here and provided shade to the neighborhood is long gone. But the incubator of life at its base remains, and is arguably more vibrantly active now than it's ever been.
As I stood in a cemetery with my wife last week just before her cousin's funeral, I thought about how a mere few weeks ago we had visited him in the hospital, chatted with him in a delightfully sunny waiting room, heard the spirit in his voice as he shared how he had proven his doctors wrong by still being here after their even most optimistic prognoses. I took pictures that day because I feared we'd never see this cherished man again. And sadly I was right.
As I review the photos from this visit, now ephemeral pixels of data that are seemingly the only tangible pieces of him that we have left, I feel thankful that I got to know him and this part of my wife's family. His tree is indeed no longer standing, but I know the trunk he left behind is already teeming with potential, feeding on what he left behind.
Your turn: How do you remember those we've lost?