After a six year interruption, the old equipment in the cellar came alive again.
My hands are tinged purple from dancing with the juice of my father's grapes. After a six year moratorium, we had a "vindima" this year. The last one was very painful since my father fell ill on the day we finished. He waited until the last grandchild left to collapse with what would be his final cerebral hemorrhage. I recall trying to save the wine that had been crushed into the barrels. It was an impossible task for one person to accomplish alone. I recall crying in despair as the reality of the situation became more than I could take. My father laid upstairs paralyzed and the fruits of his last labor slipped away gushing out of my control onto the floor.....
Perhaps this milestone marks the end of the deep grieving.
During the vindima, we spread some of my father's ashes onto the yard. This had been a request of his. My mother had strong objections but went along with it. It was the most serene, I would almost call it "sacred" experience. Our guests and the family went into the garden late at night through a pathway lit with candles inside chinese lanterns. Each one of us carried a candle. My father rests under an apple tree in this piece of land that he loved so.
Since that date, my mother has been rather agitated. The ground is not hallowed. She holds her beliefs tightly to the strings of the Catholic Church. An institution that has been so cruel to her, but she continues to hold it in a place that I cannot an will never understand.
Yesterday, a priest came over with a family friend. This property is somewhat famous around these parts and people like to visit. It is a little Eden in the middle of the city. Most unusual indeed.
My mother requested that the priest bless the land. In her eyes/heart this would make it right.
I was overjoyed when his comments were exactly the same as mine. As he told my mother, that land was more than blessed by my father's toil and sweat. His love of it had blessed it long ago.
Nevertheless, he blessed it to make an old woman's heart beat more peacefully.
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Ramblings on life, mine. Walking through life as gracefully as I can.
4 comments:
Sendo portuguesa (embora não católica), compreendo bem esse sentimento da velha senhora que se vai esbatendo por cá. Até meados do século 19, as pessoas eram sepultadas nas igrejas (católicas) em Portugal, portanto, em 'chão sagrado'. Depois, fizeram-se os cemitérios que, para convencer o povo, foram chamados de chão sagrado e sempre benzidos por um padre. Durante muito tempo não era visto com bom olhos que um suicida fosse enterrado em chão sagrado.
Hoje em dia, sobretudo nas grandes cidades, tudo isso tende a ir desaparecendo.
Abraço!
How comforting it must be to know your father is now in his beloved garden. I lost my Dad this past June, and still can't believe he is no longer here.It is so good the priest was able to offer words that comforted your Mother. I think of you often, even if I don't write. Ivo was told this week that he is cancer free. It has been 18 long months, maybe our life can return to some semblance of order now. I'm sorry to include this in your comments dear Melly, as the post is about your much loved father.
Hopefully we can catch up one day soon.
with love
xox
Avozinha,
Obrigada pela visita.
Beijinho.
Dearest Sheila,
I too think of you often and have wondered how Ivo's health was progressing.
This past year has been extremely turbulent. It continues to be. Daria is back up from the city. Zira is back from Arizona and her recent spinal surgery was not successful, unfortunately.
So I don't despair, I am visited by some gracious days and wonderfully unselfish acts of kindness that do keep me grounded.
My love to you.
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