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QaR
October 2009 
ruah
Posted on May 24th, 2009
by 
maze
maze
Today I won't intrude on the dying, just the dead (although there is a connection I'm sure). This afternoon I spent a few hours decorating graves. Mostly family, but a few non family too. If I had a truckload of petunias, marigolds and geraniums I'd probably decorate them all. Even the nasty bastards that lie there too. I really don't understand much about the spirit world and I don't think I'm overly religious or superstitious, but I do have some sort of kinship with cemeteries. It's the one area of most cities that people revere. Scared grounds. A place to get some fresh air amidst the rot of bodies. Although nowadays a lot of folks are opting for cremation, so possibly in the near future more and more cemeteries will become abandoned. Our kids kids will be scattered instead of buried. Anyway, before I get way off track, let me say, that this blog is for Michael, Martha's husband, who recently left this plane for another realm. May he rest in peace. Martha asked me earlier why I haven been blogging as much lately. I have a few reasons and a couple of excuses, but knowing me, I would say pure laziness is the main reason...which makes it more difficult to make it new. And so now I'm looking up at the title of this blog and I notice the word ruah. It's Hebrew for breath. But before I get into that, let me tell you about Joseph whose tombstone is shown today. I never met the kid, but his stone is directly behind my parents at St. Adalbert's cemetery. Joe was born a week after me in 1947. He was killed in 1967 in Vietnam. I got to nam in '68. My father was buried in '77. Probably since 1977, I've been putting a flower or two on this kid's grave. So now you know. But here's another oddball thing I did today. I visited my bride's aunt Fanny in the hospice room at the hospital. She's 88 and shutting down because her cancer has spread all over. I nudged her...she opened her eyes...I said something...she said something...her eyes closed...we played this game for a while and then I figured it may be best to let her rest. I sat there and watched her breathe. And then I thought, holy shit, I'm getting breath from the dying. And then I began to blow breath her way. I wondered if she could feel my breath from a few feet away. And, I just blew some breath towards you. And I'm taking in yours. And right now, I'm blowing out a puff of every dead person's breath up into the heavens. Ruah.
Every Breath You Take-The Police w/lyrics
Access: Public
Tom,
I love the way you wove these threads together and your generosity of heart. Nuff said.
Deb
Bless you, Tom. What Deb said and ..what she said.
he was only 20. I feel bad. I didn't know that about martha's husband.
I noticed you were not blogging as well. I liked your blog about breathing. Never heard of that word ruah. I am jewish by proxy and missed that one.
Ruah. This really is beautiful and bittersweet and sad and peaceful. Blessings for being you in the world, Tom.
Haven't cried much. Which is a whole thing unto itself, because there are these cultural expectations of how one is s'posed to feel and act about death. I feel really sorry for his dogs, and I fantasize that he walks in the front door and hugs them. This fantasy over and over again. But I cried when I read this blog, Tom, so thank you for that [frankly unexpected] gift. :) I smile a lot, too. “She'll break!” That's what THEY say, you know. Too bad THEY don't understand. There's an outside and an inside to grief. And that much said, your thoughts today do the most perfect job of abolishing all barriers! Time, place, family, culture… all not what we think they are, on some level. And also, Michael's mom and dad were from Auburn, NY. Families of people I've never met from Auburn have sent me lovely cards in the mail that Masses are being said for Michael, the Irish Catholic Michael who was American and disavowed ALL religion. Now there are tears again.
damn I'm glad