“Keep A Writer’s Journal… keep an ongoing journal of ideas,
quotations, ponderings, anecdotes” from the book Writing the Sacred Journey-the Art and Practice of Spiritual Memoir by
Elizabeth J. Andrew.
There is an anecdote I want to recall from my recent trip to
Oregon . I had driven over from Bend to see my sister and
her husband in Portland for a couple of days, then down to Salem to see my
brother and family for the night and then on to Eugene to visit the grave sites
at Mt. Calvary Cemetery—Mom, Dad, sister Dawnie and daughter Jill. It was a
glorious fall day in Eugene —the
day of the big Oregon Ducks/Oregon State game.
I got into town just before noon, stopped at a lovely new grocer at 29th
and Willamette and bought flowers and lunch
and then drove to the cemetery.
I placed the flowers first at the gravesite where my parents
and sister rest and then walked over to Jill’s grave.
Doug, Jill’s father, had been here about 10 days earlier and
had trimmed the tree my friend, Teri, and I had planted there 34 years ago. It looked much better now, more open, mature
and joyful. As I stood there, I felt
nothing but gratitude—gratitude for this beautiful spot on the side of a hill,
surrounded by tall pines and firs, overlooking Eugene and the hill where we
once lived and the school she had attended.
I felt a sense of peace and joy and satisfaction. After a few minutes I started to leave. I
needed to use the bathroom but when I checked, the facilities at Mt. Calvary were locked tight so I had to drive back to town. But as I walked away, I
felt a tug, “Don’t leave yet, Mommie.”
So I came back and sat again in that beautiful space feeling that familiar intimacy with Jill. Finally the need to find a bathroom became
urgent and I got up again, once more feeling that sweet tug. “I have to go, sweetheart,” I said and walked
up the hill to my car.
Back down the hill at the market where I bought the flowers,
I parked and ducked into a charming little bistro next door. There I used the facilities and bought a
latte to have with the lunch I had planned to eat at the cemetery but, alas, my bathroom needs
brought me here. So I sat in the
sunshine down the hill from the cemetery at a table in front of the
market. While I ate music played
overhead. When Pachelbel’s Canon in D began to play, the music we played at
Jill’s funeral so many years ago, I recognized the connection immediately and
began to cry. I sobbed for her loss, for
her continuation, and for her immediacy. I sat there in the sunshine, remembering, feeling her presence like Life's little kiss on the check.
Later, much later, after coming home to WV, while sitting at
the computer entering my travel receipts into Quicken, I picked up the receipt
from The Supreme Bean, that little café where I had used the facilities that
bright September day and saw the name of the clerk who served me coffee. Her name was Jill.
Vicki Davies
October 6, 2009
Pachelbel’s Canon in D link:
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