The sycamore tree

“There is no life without death”

I am not sure who said this but it only feels right that I use it here, to say with death we celebrate a life, we celebrate love that we gave, we celebrate what we where given and we mourn what we have lost, but above it all we hold on to something that lasts forever the memories of our heart and mind.

A golden leaf fell with grace from the loose twig on the tree, the sun shining on its delicate from as it traced its soft and swift movement. It seemed to smile as the wind brushed away its memories, with every blow it seemed to dance. It was the beauty that shadowed a believable demise. One could believe it was death whilst the other could simply believe it was the beginning. I watched to as the leaf fell, I watched with awe as it glided down to fall on the mound that was a grave freshy dug and there on the tombstone these words were engraved “Gone to her creator. A loyal servant”. It was the harmony of death and absence that made me come to the distant realization.
There I was an observant, I watched and tried to acquire the answer, to get the final say to the voice in my head. My memories brushing against each other like the congested sidewalks at a store before a big sale. Like the customers they where eager, they wanted and urged to be plucked at on by one. These where the memories that had made me. I had my spirit yearn for something that was still unanswered but certain to me. I finally had the chance of knowing who I was.
In my efforts to taunt myself with my mind I saw a light that spoke to me. “If you want to know who you are, I will show you, you are me and I am you. I am the one that made you and all that is around you, I have lived as you and you once lived as me, ‘A loyal servant’ you are.”
There I was again watching again, this time I was watching a man his back was turned to me he sang a hymn as he jabbed at the sky blue 1990 Mazda pickup. He wiped the sweat from his eyebrows and went into the car to try the engine again he turned the key and the old car busted and let out a hacking cough, then there was smoke. “For Christ’s sakes just start already,” he put the shifting spanner into the back of the reclining seat of the blue Mazda and rushed into the house. His strides where rushed and anxious and the still his face was a mystery to me. I watched with wonder why was I here, who was this man and who was I. The mystery that surrounded me at that moment was pain, I was still the observant looking watching and not knowing. I broke from my thoughts once more when I heard a wail come from the house, it was a woman her voice was drenched in pain her cry echoed and drew me to the little window that peered into the house. I could see the man rushing in the room with panic in his eyes, there was something about his deep brown eyes that spoke to me. They gave me a settling warmth that calmed me from the screaming woman and the old lady that was kneeling between her parted legs. She said “Push my child I can see the baby’s head push”, the woman that lay with her back on the floor painted, screamed and groaned. She cried for the Lord, she called out to her ancestors as if she was saying a remnant prayer. The ground trembled at her power she was fulfilling the undying covent, her paints were now faint and her strength seemed to sip away into the earth. She grasped the cold floor as a cry came from between her legs. I could see her spirit her beautiful spirit with her black hair natural and her eyes that looked like they had belonged to a gullible infant, she smiled. She was beautiful her eyes happy but sad looking at the world for the last time, but to my amusement she felt no pain she was at peace. Her smile seemed to mirror an unexplained understanding and content. I don’t know why she was happy, happy for lose or happy for gain. I stood there mesmerized and overwhelmed what I had seen I could not explain.
A suckling cry came from the little pile of bandaged towels in the mid wife’s hands, the little girl’s eyes sparkled with innocence and she let out a silent but yet loud chuckle. “It’s a girl” said the reluctant midwife “your wife has given birth to a strong baby girl.” I carefully watched as the man still unanimous to me but very familiar stepped forward to hold his wife’s hand. He kissed it passionately and whispered to her, it was faint and not audible but the look in his eyes showed that he was giving her the world. The mid wife placed the crackling baby in the cradle and went to attend the women on the floor. I watched as they treated the corpse as if it was alive, they had not seen her sip away as they rejoiced in the new birth. They had failed to see what I had seen, the old woman knelt down beside the new mother. She saw the pale skin and felt the body now cold as stone, her face went white she got the painful realization. Her daughter was lying there idle, her body had become a tombstone. The old women sat there whilst the man stood by the cradle gazing at the life that had been brought into the world. There was peace in his eyes, he had joy sipping through him and into the world, the atmosphere was beautifully placing its self and the world was ululating to the breathing child. Yet the ground was heaving for the dead. The silence and the peace were distorted by a cry, it was heart wrenching, it was heavy to the ear and it was empty. It was pain embodied in sound and dressed by hopelessness. The old mid wife sat on the cold hard ground and wept she cried for her child. She cried for the child and she cried for the husband. The walls felt the pain and the shadows cowered away. It was grief that gave room to realization.
I stood there and stared I watched as the world turned violent, the sky that was blue and became overshadowed by grey. Death had brought pain yet life had brought death. My soul cursed at the unknown and looked at the man’s eyes. I watched the hope turn to resentment, I saw the joy turn to hatred and I felt his love turn to bitterness.
He took himself to the side of his dead wife and uttered “My love, what has this world done, why does it get away with causing heartache and pain. Is it the same God you knelt for everyday to pray for, why has he put this upon me? Had you not been faithful, had you not been kind. Had you not loved Him and thy neighbor…. Then why has he chosen to take you from a world that still needs you. Why has he decided to curse you and our child? Was he not the one that promised us joy in his son, then why has he brought this sorrow? How shall I find comfort in a God that has taken so much from me? You, my world taken from me.” It was the sight of me that gave me an idea of what it was that I had felt. I had felt joy and death. I had felt creation and execution in one blink of an eye. I had felt love and hate, I think what I felt was the world.
I saw this and felt pain I couldn’t explain it. What was this and who could have made such a cruel world, how could anyone or anything let such misfortune come upon them. I felt the sudden urge to yell at something I did not know. Something I had never seen. I felt the urge to speak but I had no words to remind me of who I was or what I was. Was I just a bird in the sky or was I someone? Had my being get taken from a world like this? Why, had I also left behind pain and misfortune? Who had I left bruised and hurt?
My head span and I felt my being explode I had been torn into pieces, my memories where there they scattered around on the ground before me and I saw a man. I saw the man his brown eyes where there looking into mine. He whispered the words “God made me for you and you for me” I felt his touch and I saw him there telling me he loved me, I saw him standing at the church sweating to his hairs in front of the local priest. I saw the church I had gone to since I was a child, I saw my father live my mother and watched as my mother cried her sorrows and put the blame on me. I saw my hopes and my pains. I saw the days I would spend lying in my cold bed crying and wishing for death. I saw the comfort that the world gave me and I saw more than I wished I could believe. I saw the days when I was to weak to walk alone where I was carried by my faith and belief, it was all there I was there.
My life had been put before me like a book, every second I felt alone I could see the angels that guarded me. I now aligned myself with my belief, I never truly understood but I knew that something was there for me and it seemed distant but it was there. I came back to the memory I had just seen, the birth and the death. I saw the love that belonged to the world, I saw the pain and I felt how it felt to be the outsider. I was the spectator to my life watching it unravel before me and feeling the pain for those around me those that I had not known. I was like God for a moment, I watched over, heard the prayers and watched as we made our choices. He, guiding us and giving us free will and conclusively it was beautiful to be there but painful to watch, in my mind I had become God for a memory my human memory as my life ended and as a new one began.

The End…..

I wrote this in 2020 and I never put it out there I am not certain on how well it is or how it resonates with you but this is the first prose I had ever written on death. It might be vividly confusing but when i wrote it i wasn’t in my head but i was engraving words that I felt from my soul and it has been long since i heard that voice in me that whispers to me every line i wrote. I am a writer and I hope this touches your soul because I put a part of my soul in this.

In loving Memory of my dear sister you are my star and I look for you every night in the dark deep blue skies. You stay forever a part of me, my muse.