Written In Stone

A few weeks ago, we had the opportunity to gather in Stanley, Idaho. We were able to camp, eat fabulous food, laugh, bond and lay Uncle Paul and Aunt Charlene to rest. How lucky were we? Family and friends wrote tribute to our pretty-dang-awesome Paul and Charlene. Our words were put inside a lock box and buried in the meadow close to their favorite camping spot. Jan and Theresa mixed the ashes with wildflower seeds and each of us grasped a cup in our loving hands and spread the seed throughout the meadow. With rain and time on our side, flowers will bloom and the world will get to witness the beauty of the Deason family.

Resting on the buried time capsule, Rick lay an engraved stone. What is it about viewing a written image of names? Theresa showed me the stone and I freaking lost it. I mean I LOST IT. My finger traced the Deason name and my heart was flooded with memories of Uncle Paul, Aunt Charlene, Aunt Joy, Aunt Mel, Aunt Charlene (yes, there were two of them), Cousins, Grandparents, all friends and family that have passed before us. Is there a path to ready for us? Is Uncle Paul cutting wooden chairs? Is Aunt Charlene gathering flowers for the table? Is Aunt Joy making tacos? Are Aunt Mel and Aunt Charlene giggling and raising havoc? How about Dad, Pat, Denise, Ray? Uncle Lyn, Cori Jo, Aunt Jeanne, Rebecca? Both sets of Grandparents? Are they gathered with plate in hand? Oh I so hope so. Those are chairs I long to sit on at a table I can only dream of with loved ones that make my heart sing.

I gather rocks. There is something that resonates in my soul when I can touch a piece of the earth from a place that holds meaning.

Pat's daughter got married. In fact, since Pat's passing, both daughters have said their vows. Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. In both weddings, the centerpieces were embellished with rocks.

Erin married first. I grabbed a rock and placed it in my pocket. For a few years now, that rock sits in a bowl on my desk right next to Pat's picture.

Kelle honored me by requesting that I go wedding dress shopping with her. Before leaving, I grabbed that stone and a picture of Pat and brought them with me.

The rock from Erin now has a companion. When Kelle married, I grabbed a rock off the table and placed it in the bowl.

While attending the memorial in Idaho, I picked up a rock. I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned to my dear friend Jan. She held a rock in her hand. With a quavering voice she told me "I know you." and handed it to me.

Does the rock hold more meaning than Jan thinking of me? I don't think so.

Friedrich Nietzsche wrote:

There will always be rocks in the road ahead of us. They will be stumbling blocks or stepping stones; it all depends on how you use them.

When you are faced with grief, success, friendship, joy or sadness, bend down and grab a rock. Run your fingers over and feel the smoothness juxtaposed with the jagged edges. Layer upon layer, rocks are formed and made beautiful with time.

Write your life in stone.