365 Days of Writing | #7 It Shouldn’t be Taboo

WordPress Writing Prompt: Immortalized in Stone
Your personal sculptor is carving a person, thing or event from the last year of your life. What’s the statue of and what makes it so significant?

 in reality this little pot is only 2.5″ round

I find the prompt a bit ambiguous as did another author whose name or blog an cannot remember at this moment. Would this be last year meaning 2014 or the last year of my life. Either way, Immortalized in Stone brings to mind for me a gravestone upon which my name, dates, and some pithy phrase about the roles I played in this world.

This little essay is not meant to be morbid, simply realistic. I find it sad that we, in this country, find it so difficult to talk about death before we find ourselves on the precipice … whether our own or a loved one’s. In my mind we’d all be better off if we knew our wishes would be carried out, or if we are the “carrier outer” we knew what to do rather than having to guess.

Since I had the misfortune not long ago to have to think upon these things, I don’t plan on being buried therefore a statue is not quite fitting. I don’t intend to be “laid to rest” in any one place. I will be cremated and my ashes will be left in a place of beauty, possibly high on a mountain top. This I still need to determine and the specific place will likely only be disclosed to my children and their father.

Nonetheless, wherever the breeze blows, the sun shines, and the raindrops fall, those who were touched by me may remember. My hope is that I have spread enough generous thoughts and deeds that friends and family will know I loved them and acquaintances will know I cared–that I left the room with them feeling better–as though a ray of sunshine appeared if only for a moment. Unfortunately, this is not always true, but I endeavor it to be so.

I’ve been told the memorial service is for the survivors and that there needs to be a place to go. A place to visit. But for a change, I don’t want to be stuck in one place and I don’t want that place to be far away from those who want to visit. I want explicit freedom. To be incarnated in any and every flower, tree, and bit of flowing water so anyone who wishes can access me.

I believe this is how it is with the departed anyway. I know I don’t need to go to West Point Cemetery to visit my parents on the hill under a tree. I can talk to them any time I want. And truly, I most often find them in my bedroom, on a path in the woods, or wherever I feel lost. Yes, even as an adult there I times I feel lost and occasionally find myself saying, “I need you Mom.”

So the little pot that looks quite big in the photo represents to me where a bit of me might be stored if my family wishes, but I would not expect them to. That’s completely up to them. In fact, it might be more fun if it was a place they put little snippets of paper with questions or topics they’d like to discuss with me. They might just get some answers.

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