I wonder if the angels are waiting? I wonder if he can see the light? I wonder if his parents and brother are extending their hands out to pull him up through the gates of heaven. That transition from life to death when the spirit leaves the body and enters into paradise. I remember when my grandmother was dying, which was nearly 21 years ago this month. She pointed to a light only she could see and called out to my Aunt Nana, my grandfather's sister who died a few years after my grandfather. She kept saying, "can you see the people in the light" and we said "yes" even though we could not see what she was seeing. Some people do not believe the dead can come back. I believe they can and do to help the dying cross that bridge into eternity. For many death is a term in which many people avoid. To me it is a glorious transition from one state to another where one finds eternal joy and happiness. It is the dying that frightens people for dying is like birth, the process of leaving one state and entering into another. Some births are easy while others are difficult. The same can be said of dying.
My fascination with cemeteries sounds morbid to some, but to me it is about those who came before us, their lives meant something to someone, cemeteries are the proof that they existed. Uncle Jack and I had many conversations about Laurel Hill Cemetery. He once told me it was where he learned how to love history, math and music. He would lay atop a mausoleum and listen to the bands from the Music Center adjoined to the cemetery. The cemetery is a historical site where many famous people are interred, therefore he learned about history. He knew the age of death by subtracting the birth date from the death date. He worked there under the caretakers known as the "Prouds". He lived across the street from that cemetery and played cards with Earl Proud in the caretaker's residence on the cemetery's grounds. My uncle often told me he wanted to be interred in Laurel Hill. He felt a connection with the place and the thought of interment there was a comfort. I am not sure he ever conveyed this to his family, or if they would want him here in Philadelphia, as his family is on the West coast.
Uncle Jack will be remembered for his laughing eyes, so much like my grandfather's eyes. Out of all the siblings, Uncle Jack most resembles his father. Uncle Jack will be remembered for his loud voice, his laughter, his cursing out other drivers who in his eyes never drove properly. He will be remembered for his presence as he would take the air out of a room just with his walk into a room, so much as his father would. He will be remembered for his love of his children and grandchildren, and I will remember him for always telling me this as we hung up the phone.
If this is your time, sweet uncle, I pray you cross swiftly and painlessly into the arms of Uncle Billy, grandmom and grandpop, as they will show you the way through the gates of heaven.
My fascination with cemeteries sounds morbid to some, but to me it is about those who came before us, their lives meant something to someone, cemeteries are the proof that they existed. Uncle Jack and I had many conversations about Laurel Hill Cemetery. He once told me it was where he learned how to love history, math and music. He would lay atop a mausoleum and listen to the bands from the Music Center adjoined to the cemetery. The cemetery is a historical site where many famous people are interred, therefore he learned about history. He knew the age of death by subtracting the birth date from the death date. He worked there under the caretakers known as the "Prouds". He lived across the street from that cemetery and played cards with Earl Proud in the caretaker's residence on the cemetery's grounds. My uncle often told me he wanted to be interred in Laurel Hill. He felt a connection with the place and the thought of interment there was a comfort. I am not sure he ever conveyed this to his family, or if they would want him here in Philadelphia, as his family is on the West coast.
Uncle Jack will be remembered for his laughing eyes, so much like my grandfather's eyes. Out of all the siblings, Uncle Jack most resembles his father. Uncle Jack will be remembered for his loud voice, his laughter, his cursing out other drivers who in his eyes never drove properly. He will be remembered for his presence as he would take the air out of a room just with his walk into a room, so much as his father would. He will be remembered for his love of his children and grandchildren, and I will remember him for always telling me this as we hung up the phone.
If this is your time, sweet uncle, I pray you cross swiftly and painlessly into the arms of Uncle Billy, grandmom and grandpop, as they will show you the way through the gates of heaven.
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