Grasshoper II

"I wanted to think about you today. I wanted to find a quiet corner and sit. I wanted to pull the memories of you from the back of my mind and savor them, roll them around slowly like sweet candy over my tongue."

The morning of your service, I woke with a painful knot at the base of my spine and a nausea churning in my stomach. It was finally time. I'd prepared myself for this day, it had seemed, for years, since I realized what you were. Still, I felt nervous beyond words and sadder than I could have expected.

I spent the morning with my little sister. We ate pancakes and then went shopping, anything to distract from the reality of what was coming. At 12:30, we were ready. I picked up my Ryan, who already looked stiff and uncomfortable, and headed to the church. I struggled to park my SUV, seeming to suddenly lose my focus. The lot was extremely full, as expected. We all made our way to the church, but not before running into several of your friends who had nothing but warm hugs and sympathetic smiles for me. My hands were shaking. My "thank you's" sounded lame and halfhearted to my own ears. In an uncharacteristic display of love and support, my mother came and found me, pulled me from the tiny knot of the crowd around me, and held my hand the rest of the way to the church. I was as surprised by her gesture as I was touched. I signed the guest book with shaky hands, leaving off my Ryan's name on impulse. That had seemed most fair to the both of you at the time. We made our way upstairs to the balcony, there was no longer room on the ground floor of the church.

After a time, staring at the ceiling fans and cool yellow ceiling, I forced myself to look down in time to see your family enter. The boys looked lovely and awkward in their little man suits and ties. Your sister and brother-in-law took their seats and shared an encouraging smile, touched hands briefly. Your mother came in and took her place, sharing a small wave or two with a familiar face out in the pews.
The pastor entered last. She took the podium and it all began.

The service seemed a bit detached and it wasn't hard for my attention to wander while we sang songs that lasted too long and listened to readings and prayers that seemed too impersonal. It wasn't until your brother stood to do his reading that my attention snapped back. He did well but for the quaking in his normally calm and collected voice. When he had finished, the large pipe organ upstairs hummed to life suddenly, a loud, disconcerting noise that barely qualified as musical. I had jumped out of my skin and almost laughed out loud as I realized it would have been exactly your reaction too. The organ belched out a disjointed hymn and then the pastor rejoined the podium. My stomach clenched suddenly as she started to speak.

She had spent quite a few days with you near the end. It was apparent from the way she invited the men to remove their ties, that she'd come to know you well enough. Then before I was mentally ready, the words she spoke were suddenly my own. At your sister's request, I'd written something about you. I had invited her to share it with your family and use it as she deemed appropriate. I expected the service to include some of those words but it shocked me none the less to hear them spoken out loud. She referred to me a "a good friend", appropriate and I hoped, more anonymous than I knew it would be. The tears finally came now, slow and silent, coursing down my cheeks.

I was asked to write a sentence or two about Seth, some words that would describe his personality, his essence. I found that in thinking of those very important words, that so many more thoughts came to mind about who he was, and then, surprisingly, all the things I realized that I learned about him, and from him in our years together. It’s important to me to share these things with you, because I think they speak volumes about the kind of human being he was. I think these are the things Seth would want people to know about him. These are the things I loved, and will remember always about him. There are so many smiles embedded in my tears these days, and I hope that you will read some of my thoughts and be able to smile a bit more too.

I know that Seth loved his family. I know there were periods of estrangement at different times in his life, but I know how deeply he loved all of you. He would tell me the same stories over and over again, stories about growing up in Mystic. He had great stories about being the your little brother, or a spoiled son who loved debating with Mom. There were times you should know, when he’d get off the phone with you and his mood would be so elated, like his spirit had just been super recharged. I remember in particular, the day you all came to the beach house in New London for lunch. I remember him playing ball barefoot on the beach with the boys and later, him laughing watching the kids playing Crash on the xbox. He kept telling me after-wards that it had been the “greatest day”. I don’t think, looking back, that I had ever seen him happier in all the years I had known him. It was a gift for him to be with all of you that day. Even though he may not have always been active in your lives, he always knew what each of you was doing, where you were all at in your lives. It’s important that you know that.

I know that Seth loved the ocean, any water really. I could always find him in up to his waist in water, casting his line out over and over again, with this look of absolute bliss. He would fish in any weather, be it oppressive heat or a cold, sleeting rain. Sometimes he’d wake up before the sun to hit that beach or pond at just the right moment. I have to tell you, I never really saw him catch a fish except a tiny minnow he foul-hooked one time, but that never seemed to matter to him. He loved being on or near that water any chance he could get. I know it brought him a special kind of peace. I can’t drive by the ocean now without thinking about him or that lovely look on his face when it was just him, the wind and the waves.

I know Seth loved people. He loved to talk and he could talk to just about anyone. I think anyone who’s ever known him will tell you that. He had the gift of gab and the charisma to engage even the most aloof of strangers. I can’t tell you how many times he’d encountered a frustrated clerk, cashier or waitress who’s attitude clearly said “not now, buddy…” and yet he would still manage to turn them into chatty patties with one of his goofy grins or corny antidotes. I used to joke that I needed to build an extra half hour into all our errands because he’d burn through at least that, having gotten drawn into any number of little conversations with strangers we’d met along the way. He was always polite and courteous without failing. I’d often find that some of that had even rubbed off on me. Every time I take a few extra minutes to make sure I say “thank you” or smile at someone after being served or helped in line, or strike up a conversation with the elderly gentleman sitting next to me in motor vehicle, I know without a doubt that it comes from Seth. I’ve learned to be a more open, friendly person. You never know whom you are going to meet and how you will affect people. Anyone who’s ever met Seth would remember him…that is one of the greatest truths about the kind of person he was.

I know Seth loved life. The thing that stands out in my mind strongest in these hours of quiet reflection is how much he loved the world around him. One of his favorite things to do was to lie back and watch the clouds. I used to groan with impatience when he’d make me drop onto the grass beside him and he’d implore me to find shapes in the clouds above our heads. The thing I keep thinking of is how he never lost patience with my mundane sightings; the obscured faces, the occasional bunny rabbit. He would always get excited and say something like; “yup, yup I see that Melis, but do you see how there looks like there is a dog wearing a cape chasing that bunny?” It was never simple. He always saw so much more than I ever could. My silly cloud shapes could never complete with the wonderful things he saw up there; the ships and dragons and kids playing…he always pressed me to look harder, to see more. He wanted to share those things with me. He wanted me to take the time to appreciate, not just the clouds but the sunsets and the flowers, the way the sun hit the tops of the trees, the new snow in the morning…I think he always worried I was missing too much of the beauty that was around me. He had such an appreciation for nature, for the world around him. I have learned to look harder, notice more. I have learned to take an extra few minutes and sometimes to take the route that runs past the beaches. I have learned that there are an amazing number of things to appreciate in every quiet moment in the sun or gazing up at a full moon. I have learned to take a few moments now and then, to raise my eyes up and look for those dragons, fighter planes and sleeping giants in the sky.

There are so many more things in my heart and in my head. I can only say that knowing Seth, having him in my life, gave me the opportunity to learn things about myself, learn things for myself that I know I may never have come to know. I will be eternally thankful to him for that. I am also thankful that through him, I came to know his family. I think you are all amazing. It has been a gift to be part of your lives. I cannot fathom your loss. I can only tell you that the autumn sun seemed so much dimmer to me the morning I heard that he had passed. Seth was a gentle giant of a man with the biggest, sweetest heart I have ever known. I will miss him terribly.

In keeping with your mother's style, and quite possibly your wishes, the service was short. You had hand-picked the musical selection and as the first bars of Solbury Hill by Peter Gabriel floated up into the rafters, the grief uncurled inside me and I sobbed for you. How is it that I am here? How can you be gone? It didn't seem right that I had woken up in a world without you.

A few nights later, you came to me in my sleep. I woke up and stretched out my legs to find you curled up at the end of my bed. It was you, from the gray sweatshorts that hung precariously on your narrow hips, to your swollen belly, to the way your body blocked out the light when you passed through my bedroom doorway. It was you all the way. I woke knowing you would have wanted me to be happy, that in the end your love for me would have forced your acceptance of my new life. In my dream, you made your peace with me. It had felt like a gift.