"Yesterday my brother-in-law Fritz Kramer, an inveterate cat lover, passed away unexpectedly. This morning I had just started talking to my sister on the phone when this tabby I had never seen before appeared out of nowhere on my deck and started rubbing against my legs, demanding pets. I don't think it was a coincidence."
Of course, in the heightened emotional state we were all in, we were in awe of this and I, with my skeptical nature, dismissed it as a comforting coincidence. However, as the weekend of the funeral unfolded, there seemed to be just too many wonderful coincidences to not bring questions to my mind. There were unusual sightings of bucks on the road, not once but twice, which was unusual in the DC area and astonished Fritz's family who lived nearby. Just standing by the side of the road, looking majestic. And while Harry and I were talking about Fritz with his wife, my sister Suzanne, in their living room shortly after our arrival in DC, two cardinals landed on the porch swing outside the window where we were sitting and began to cause such a loud chattering ruckus that we had to stop our conversation. Suzanne said she had never seen that happen before. We laughed, saying maybe Fritz didn't like what we were saying about him and was interrupting us.
Fritz's sister, Ellen, flew in from South Carolina and gave a lovely tribute as part of the memorial service. One of her comments in the tribute was that as a child, Fritz had an orange cat named Sidney. OK, I thought, that was very interesting. But then she read this poem from a book of poems that their family owned and from which
they had chosen poems to be read at other family member funerals. Ellen found this poem earmarked by a faded yellow post-it note by their sister Barbara who passed away some years ago and with whom Fritz had been very close that said "thinking of you" "B" and Ellen believed that was a sign that this poem was mean for Fritz. My ears really perked up when I heard the last stanzas.
Three Poem s for James Wright
3. The Rose
I had a red rose to send you,
how it sang, and kept singing!
how it keeps singing!
in its deep
and miraculous
compose.
Now I was convinced. That somehow, through the power of love, or the universe, or karma, or God or whatever goes on after we die, these were some sort of signs sent to those grieving. Sent from above? Who knows. But who cares, because it stamped this life event with a memory, a story to share and a blessing of comfort on those left behind.
Three Poem s for James Wright
3. The Rose
I had a red rose to send you,
but
it reeked of occasion, I thought,
so
I didn’t. Anyway
It
was the time
the
willows do what they do
every
spring, so I cut some
down
by a dark Ohio creek and was ready
to
mail them to you when the news came
that
nothing
could
come to you
in
time
anymore
ever.
I
put down the phone
and
I thought I saw, on the floor of the room, suddenly,
a
large box,
and
I knew, the next thing I had to do,
was
to lift it
and
I didn’t know if I could.
Well,
I did.
But
don’t call it anything
but
what it was ---the voice
of
a small bird singing inside, Lord,how it sang, and kept singing!
how it keeps singing!
in its deep
and miraculous
compose.
from
New and Selected Poems,
Mary
Oliver
Now I was convinced. That somehow, through the power of love, or the universe, or karma, or God or whatever goes on after we die, these were some sort of signs sent to those grieving. Sent from above? Who knows. But who cares, because it stamped this life event with a memory, a story to share and a blessing of comfort on those left behind.
