Dancing in the Shadows

Dancing in the Shadows

Traveling home recently to a family reunion, I took a side trip down memory lane, to places only I could travel. Family reunions are meant to gather together all those living relatives and share good times, swap favorite tales, catch up on news and remember those who have passed on. Reunions, at least for me anyway, have a way of dredging up the haunting past.

The night before the reunion, my brother and I sat and shared some happy memories, went through some recent photos of a joint trip we took together to Israel and then he brought out a video made by a family member of our ancestors set to music. I sat mesmerized for over an hour and viewed familiar and unfamiliar faces as they rolled across the screen. I became spellbound by the photos of my grandparents in their youth, then their children and my mother.

I felt sad when it ended, I found myself hungry for more. Many of the people in the video, my mother included, have passed on. Death has gripped my family many times over and visions of this danced in the memory banks of my mind during the rest of the night. My brother and I were both reluctant to end the evening and go to bed, so we sat and shared memories until the wee hours of the morning.

During the long drive to the reunion the next day, I thought of who I would be seeing and those who were not be attending. Memories flitted in and out of head, as we talked during the ride, it had been a long time since I had come back home. It was an exercise I did often, dredging up the dead; not unlike scrapping open a scab and letting it bleed, very painful at times. It didn’t help much that our first stop of this trip would be to the cemetery to visit the graves of our mother, our brother and our sister.

I have faced many losses in my fifty-one years, and I have lived in the shadow of death and grief most of my life. My very first taste of loss would come before I was even born, a sister who died tragically at three weeks old. Her ghost would haunt me for years. I grew up in the shadow of who she might have been, the broken dreams of my parents, the child I could never be and she became the sister I never knew.

I mourned over her, cried over her and wondered why she had to die. Since I never knew her; she became this romantic figure in my head. I fantasized about my big sister since I was surrounded by little brothers who could never begin to understand the ways of a girl. I longed for someone to share clothes with, whisper things to and share a bedroom together with just as my two brothers did. I was the only girl, the outcast and grieving over a loss of something I could not even fathom.

Long into the night I would feel as if something were missing, often feeling empty and alone, I would curl myself into a ball and sob at the cruelty of the loss of my sister who would forever remain a mystery. Her ghost haunted me and I carried around the single picture taken of her. The black and white photo taken close up of her sweet angel face lying asleep in her coffin outlined her delicate features so fragile and porcelain. I carried this tiny snapshot until the edges showed signs of wear and tear from looking at it so often, imagining our fictional life together.

My sister’s death was only the first in a long series of losses I would face in my life, some came more sudden like my brother’s did when he was killed in an accident at the tender age of 19. Other’s came with calls from Doctor’s delivering news in robotic tones, some with a telegram, another came with a stranger stuttering the words out.

None of the instances are easy to deal with, whether you have time to prepare or if you never knew the person, grief is grief and it lingers like an unwelcome guest forever. It comes back without notice often, just when you think you have rushed out the door and slammed it shut, it comes knocking again, suitcases packed and ready to stay.

Death is never done, he will come knocking again. As I look around me, I don’t fear it, I cherish what I have, I treasure these moments with those people I love. I will grieve again, of this I am sure, but I do not want to waste a moment of this life in grief over things that do not matter or what I cannot control. I am just now beginning to learn this and trying to learn to let it go.

As I stood beside the tiny grave of my sister I didn’t feel that sense of loss for her anymore, for I knew she was in a good and happy place. As I looked down upon the graves of my mother, brother and others who have passed along I felt at peace. I will dance in their shadows.

Teresa Gale
8/1/09