Memories and metaphors after good-bye

In this reflection on Slate.com, Meghan O'Rourke tells of her metaphor for her mother immediately following her mother's death:

I went outside onto my parents' porch without putting my coat on. The limp winter sun sparkled off the frozen snow on the lawn. "Please take good care of my mother," I said to the air. I addressed the fir tree she loved and the wind moving in it. "Please keep her safe for me."

. . .

The truth is, I need to experience my mother's presence in the world around me and not just in my head. Every now and then, I see a tree shift in the wind and its bend has, to my eye, a distinctly maternal cast. For me, my metaphor is—as all good metaphors ought to be—a persuasive transformation. In these moments, I do not say to myself that my mother is like the wind; I think she is the wind. I feel her: there, and there.

In a similar vein, Alan Jones wrote a reflection upon his retirement as dean of Grace Episcopal Cathedral in San Francisco. He commented that writing one's own obituary is an interesting exercise to gain clarity of one's priorities and purpose in life. Here is a poem he wrote about his own obituary writing exercise:

Pescadero--on Writing My Obituary

The instructions read,
"Only two hundred words."
The music of the movie, Shadowlands
contradicts my old dislike of Lewis,
his moralisms always hitting where it hurt.
Now--writing of my death--
I think he's right.--
At least he saw
glory in the noche oscura.

The dying sun
here in Richard's house
softly lights the Buddha's way,
filling me with an unbuddhist ache
of contented longing,
in the cycle of attachment.

The Zen bells ring,
telling me that while no meeting
in my life was insignificant,
the past is past.

Alone in the nunc eternum
of this moment,
I am surrounded
by clouds of witness.
My obituary written,
I live, for this moment,
on the other side of death,
with Buddha and his consort
in this Japanese retreat.
Mary and her Son
still keep me company,
teaching me to hope--
loving all sentient beings,
and being loved in return,
I see karma and providence
marry in the light of the fading sun.

(Photo by annia316 ღ ; used by permission.)