You get to the high places by way of the low....

I had a transformative experience this weekend. I flew to Memphis for the memorial service of my aunt. It was a time, of course, for a family reunion, and our little family was in need of it. My aunt lived to be 97, so we all knew she had lived a full life.  After the graveside service, we gathered at a beautiful park for a picnic. 

I took my copy of LIFE WITH A HOLE IN IT. I passed it around and asked everyone to actually lay hands on it and I told them my prayer for the book—that it would find its way into the hearts of those that were open to receive it. My sister-in-law wanted me to autograph her copies and I said I couldn’t since she was out of town. “I’ll order the books, mail them to you, you sign them and mail them back to me,” she said firmly. I looked at her with wonder and she said, “Vicki, it’s a family thing.” I was moved.

My sister’s birthday was the next day and we all had brunch at Brennan’s of New Orleans. The food was ambrosial. At the picnic my cousin, whose mother we had memorialized, had served us the best barbecue on earth (Memphis, Tennessee) I realize some of you will argue with that, but I have a bully pulpit here in which I proclaim Memphis barbecue to be the best. We ended with an Italian dinner at a marvelous restaurant called Pete and Sam’s. Their barbecue pizza has been featured on The Food Network. My son got his picture taken with Mr. Sam, who is in his eighties and holds court at the register, where he rings up most of the sales.

Our flight back to Atlanta was yesterday morning. My son said, “Do you want to stop by the cemetery again?” I said. There was a crystalline blue sky. We walked over to the family plot, me holding LIFE WITH A HOLE IN IT  in my hand.  Rob, my son, had his camera in the trunk and I asked him to go get it. Then I placed the book on my husband’s grave marker and asked Rob to take a photo. 

“I’ve been finding pennies, heads up, recently,” he said. “ I intended to leave one on each grave after the memorial Saturday, but didn’t, so I’ll put a penny on Dad’s grave and Laurie’s (his younger sister.) The wind had picked up, so he put the penny on the book to hold the cover down before he took the picture. We stood there in silence for a few moments and savored the symbolic completion of the little book's journey. After all, it has its roots in the loss of the beloved. Then I moved the book to my daughter’s grave and we repeated the process there.

“Look,” I said, pointing to the sun. Light was breaking through the gigantic oaks. It resembled the book’s cover photo, which was taken in Norway. He took some shots of the trees and sun and I knew this day in the life of my little book was transformative. The roots of the book lay within my heart and the light was breaking through the clouds of illusion. It had been a long journey on the horizontal level and a wink in the eye of eternity.

As we drove to the airport, I left with a heart full of peace and gratitude. You reach the high places by way of the low.

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