I stood beside my wife as she wept.
She had spent the day preparing food.
A feast for her father who three days before had entered the spirit world.
Incense burned around the dishes, candles lit the altar, Korean funeral songs filled the space, she bowed & wept.
His picture framed in black watched over her.
She had mentioned once he was a disciplinarian yet as so many of his generation the face was full of great protective warmth.
She loosened the rice and filled a spoonful serving then bowed & wept.
Her heart was heavy.
I slipped my hand under hers but she needed no support she wept.
Her bows were light & graceful as if she were the spirit.
I moved behind her to rest my hands on her shoulders as a sign of comfort.
She wept.
We bowed three times three.
She wept three times three.
The incense sticks became ash. The candles in the sand flickered. The songs finished. There was a sorrowful emptiness.
She wept to the end.
We walked hand in hand to the room we call home.
Layers, duration and transitions are the dialogue of living either here or there.
- See: Memorium
:: note :: ... it has taken me over a week to have the space to mark this moment ... events weigh with an incommensurable expression ...
