The Path of Memory

I'm learning the power of memorializing.  I don't cry much, instead I feel my grief like a warm flame in my chest. I feel my grief is a process of alchemy, one of honoring the beauty and the light of each day.

On Sunday, the day of my uncle's wake,  I bought a bunch of peach-colored roses, on impulse. I also bought condolence cards for all his sisters and remaining brother.  I cut each long stem and placed it in special sugar water.  These sturdy flowers remain remarkably fresh and undisturbed in their vase on our dining room table. 

Each day I set an intention to honor my uncle's spirit by lighting a candle. I let it burn as long as I am home.  One candle has already burnt into a sandle-wood scented pool its wick dissolving into the melted wax. Once it went out, I scraped the candle holder clean. 

I found another container for this evening's candle, a red one with a  cinnamon scent. It will burn until the last of my family goes to bed. 

One life - a little gleam of time between two eternities.

Thomas Carlyle