Monday, August 15, 2011

Morning Mail


In my hometown, another family friend has died. I could go through my mother’s letters to read their last exchange, but I won’t, at least not now. And I can’t pass the news along. Mom’s mind is gone, and so the loss must abide in me. That’s where it belongs. And in that I’m pleased. Eva was the first to visit us, casserole in hand, when my father died. Her husband, John, still alive, smokes his pipe somewhere in my 1960s mind, he and Dad wearing balloons under dresses in a holiday skit. So says the family album. This is where I sit.


10 comments:

vazambam said...

.......where everything seems to fit--so thanks for this morning's post, Mr. Mailman.

William Michaelian said...

You’re quite welcome, son. And thank you for your stamp of approval.

Jim Murdoch said...

That’s the thing about losses. They demand some kind of acknowledgement at the very least. If there is no prescribed ceremony then still there exists the need in us to do something, say something, tell someone, even a complete stranger on the other side of the world. Somehow that makes it more bearable.

William Michaelian said...

Thanks, Jim. The same goes for everything that delights or wounds, in my mind, at least. Even now, I rejoice. I’ve never lost without finding something in turn. More depth; a greater capacity for pain; joy when it’s least expected.

Denise Scaramai said...

Authentic memories of childhood,
are so vivid, and will be valid forever.
Are like a 'stock' of comfort.

William Michaelian said...

So true. Thank you, Denise.

erin said...

somehow it all begins and ends in us, doesn't it, and yet we are almost not important. and so what of importance?

there is the album, the balloon, and the laughter that will never go.

you are a good son))

xo
erin

William Michaelian said...

(And so what of good sons?)

We each carry it forward, Erin. And are carried by it.

Paul L. Martin said...

Beautiful, spare, and haunting. In so few words you convey every nuance.

William Michaelian said...

Thanks, Paul. I’ve since learned that Eva’s husband, John, also passed away a few months ago. Somehow I missed that news, or had managed to forget it. And yet the way it’s worded, “Morning Mail” still rings true. In my mind, they are all alive.