Summers in Mt. Vernon

by Stanley Boyson

The ease at which you talked about death, with its subtleties and necessities, convinced us that you were resigned to something we weren’t ready to accept.. departure. In your ever-loving kindness and selfless way you clung to life, not for your own sake but for ours. Even as you were wasting away, you had the wisdom to spare your us the heavy burden of grieving for you while still grieving for Pops. These are the thoughtful things that defined you as a human, as a matriarch, as a mother. The beginning and end of your life, paled in significance to the years in between.

We stubbornly and selfishly tried to hold on to you, but your will was mightier than ours. So this paradox assaults our reasoning, forces our reluctant hands to open the brochure that touts, “Mt. Vernon, a final resting place for the ones you love”. The service was subdued. All mourned silently but sincerely as the coffin was closed on a daughter, sister, wife, mother, friend, and child of God.

The procession stretched for what seemed like a mile. Expansive white-washed gates welcomed the tangible you to your new park-like home while the astral you remained in its permanent home.. our hearts.

You always did like the park.. with its green rolling expanses, storytelling trees, conveniently placed benches near reflection ponds..
a place where you could talk..
a place where you could feel at ease..
a place to refresh a weary soul..
a place you knew we wouldn’t mind visiting every summer.

Summers in Mt. Vernon by Stanley Boyson

© Copyright 1996. All rights reserved. No portion of this work may be duplicated or copied without the expressed written consent of the author.

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