Pretty funny bike prank. #bikeprank #prank #bike (Taken with Instagram)
Meditations.• Question everything.
Tonight my pastor friend texted me about calling him, about some bad news. I stared at the dot-dot-dots ending his text as they resounded heavily in my mind and immediately it was the last thing I wanted to do. And my thoughts began to race. Who is it this time? Another suicide? Was there a diabetic coma found too late? Had a tragedy occurred that needed my immident attention? I decided I needed a drink and so made my way into the kitchen, shattering my treasured tulip glass in the distracted rush.
Through deduction, heightened reasoning, and a call from my boyfriend it became clear that an elderly woman, Hildegard, had passed. So I called my friend, already knowing the bad news, going through the motions of conversation.
This situation slowly took me to Mr. Rom’s sudden death just before High school graduation, nearly ten years ago. We were seniors and I was going through the motions of shrugging off my previous identities and looking forward to a clean slate. Others were just getting comfortable in their chosen fascades as they mirrored their parent’s dreams or shuffled into an advertised career slot. One of my closest friends was, at the time, currently in idealist disorder, seeking to become a writer and journalist, looking forward to majoring in journalism at the state university. And it was she who was most profoundly disturbed by Mr. Rom’s death. He had been her mentor and for him she had been a type of companion. They had formed one of those student/teacher bonds you only ever see on screen or the theatre.
That day I entered first into the school auditorium, my friend slightly behind. I remember another girl came approaching me with the news and then looking back to witness a boy tell my friend the same information. I rushed for her, her hand slipping from the stair rail, embracing her. I am so sorry, I told her. After that, in a way, she couldn’t be touched. She seemed to shrink away emotionally and mentally, staring into space with her head tilted to one side and minutes later tilted slowly to the other. Her long dark hair and bangs hung into her face and I knew any more words would be meaningless. I left her with a few friends, feeling she required space to grieve.
I continue to harbor my anxiety about Hildegard’s death. I think about the funeral and watching so many people, who held her far more closer and much more dear, as they find their way through the grief. I loved her at a distance, with the same respect I would give a grandparent. She was a strong, happy, young hearted woman with a serious edge and a knack for story telling. I regret to have not shared enough words with her or to have learned enough from her wisdom, or laughed for that matter. I have lost most of my grandparents to the next place…but I may never love nor grieve them the way I will Hildegard, and others like her. A true work of art. A real person, who had come from somewhere much different then where we are today or where we will be.
So, I dedicate this talk about death to Hildegard and the frankness she upheld. And without knowing much about her I love and keep her memory.