The City of Life and Death

"I've seen the end of the day come too soon...

...It's nothing that I haven't seen before, But it still kills me like it did before"

End of the Day, Beck

Dear Emma,

Today the thin supernatural cellophane barrier that keeps us apart never felt more preset. A portion of my day was consumed with work that brought me to ponder our final resting places, and though you’re here at home, a cemetery was the focus of my attention. In this hazy stream of consciousness tinged with performative effort, I realized a cemetery is a not a cold, harsh places of loneliness, but rather bustling metropolis of story and memory. There are narrative urbanities that just need to be unlocked with a little thought, consideration, and investment of effort. We must be compelled to ply pages, site, and other materials to see the vibrant life of those who have left us.

In looking under the hood and tinkering with a piece of writing, I realized that these are places of departure, but not for the rich souls journeying into the warm embrace of the Lord. The departed are us in our still confused, damaged, and torn sense of who is really lost in death. The death of the city of the cemetery resides in the living, not the ones flying feel from the bonds of our weighty flesh.

When I saw that, I saw a cemetery as a place of birth, childhood, first loves, marriages, children, friendship, and all the other ingredients that make a life. They are all present here for the living to bask in rather than toil under.

It’s through the strength you’ve given me that I see the true nature of where we rest our bones at the end of the longest day.

Love,

Dad