Svaha -- Waiting for the Thunder

Svaha -- Amerindian; the time between seeing the lightning and hearing the thunder; of waiting for promises to be fulfilled.

Since Mom died we've all been going and doing and getting back to our lives, knowing that the time would come when we would have to face what we were getting back to our lives in order to get away from. The fact that she's gone.

I always called her on Sunday. It's Sunday. I picked up the phone....

The thunder is coming. It's almost here. And with it comes the rain.


For Mom's part, she rests at the left hand of Luke, in an area of the Lawn Haven Memorial Park called "The Four Apostles".

The Gospel of Luke gives us the parables of the Good Samaritan, The Friend at Night, the Prodigal Son and the Lost Sheep. All fitting for the way that she taught us to live; taught us, by example, to treat others.

For those who know their Bible, you also know that Luke may have been a lot of things, but he wasn't an Apostle. Decades too late for that. But, in Lawn Haven, he is. And that's ok, too. It probably rained the day they put his statue up. Heck, if you could make it rain everytime you showed your face in town they'd probably make you an apostle too.

And I don't think Mom would care, either. She's with Poppa. Which, for much of her life, and for most of mine, is the only place she ever wanted to be.

I'm going to post this up on the blog and leave it sit for a bit. I don't even know if anyone is reading it anymore. But I thought it might be an outlet for our adjustments and feelings. If no one responds in the next week or so, I'll archive the blog and take it down. I'll e-mail folks that I have addresses for and let them know how to download the archive, since some folks have requested it.

Finally, one night gathered at the house Rae was teaching me how to play flute. (She gifted me with an absolutely beautiful one, by the way. Thanks, Sis!)
I went into the backyard and fiddled about a bit, trying to learn the fingering. Along the way I came up with a melody line. I played it for her and she turned it into music. A couple days later I gave it words and, working long distance, we turned it into a song. It wound up being played at the funeral. It wasn't planned that way. Looking at it now, it was probably just part of my making the adjustment. A little noise raised against the coming thunder.

You can hear it here, at least for awhile.

Coye Jo’s Lament
(May, 2006)

And so I go, cross the river wide.
With angel’s wings on either side.
I’ll lay my head on that farthest shore.
And there I’ll rest, in pain no more.

Or see me now, ‘top yonder hill.
And know that I am with you still.
Though I am gone, we are not apart.
For you will always have my heart.

Each one of us is born to die.
But watch me now as my spirit flies.
We’ll meet again on that farthest shore
(Let) my love fill your heart, and weep no more.

And so I'll go cross the river wide.
With angels wings on either side.
We'll meet again on that farthest shore.
(Let) my love fill your heart, and weep no more.

Svaha and Selah