In the Ocean of the Lord's Love

..........My mother did not take me to chapel anymore. This is another splitting of my life into pieces. After the Lord had answered (almost) all of my mother’s prayers, she felt like she was doing enough oh His work by taking care of me.
..........The religion of our people is the standard, vanilla monotheistic bent with allowances for the (almost) worship of the water. It did not qualify as another god, but in our prayers we always said stuff like, “And so we will be brought unto the Lord (who has blessed us with the waters, both big and small) and washed in the rivers of our love.” That’s a funeral prayer.
..........At my brother’s and sister’s funeral, they said all of those prayers two times.
..........“Let the blessed Lord (who has created all the oceans of the world) baptize us in our own tears. May the mighty Lord (who has made the rain to fall down) turn those tears into holy water sanctifying our faces and especially our eyes so we can see more sharply.”
..........“The Lord made the water and the water will flood through the hearts of sinners who do not struggle, who let themselves be swept under.”
..........“Remember that it is not we who control the water. Remember that the water comes to us as a gift from the Lord. Being given so much, let go or the Lord (all the seas his handiwork). Remember, He (father of the tiniest puddle) returns all He (water water blah blah) takes. See this in the tide, in the flow in and out and remember.”
..........Remember. Remember. Remember.
..........I remember a lot of pink at their funeral. The carpet of the funeral parlor was a deep burgundy. It was reflected on the shiny, white surface of their tiny, empty coffins and gave their boxes a soft, pink glow. Pink flowers scattered around them. The women wearing pink lipstick. My mother had painted my fingernails pink the night before (because I had asked). My sister had a pink ribbon in her hair. My Aunt Denise blew her nose into a pink handkerchief.
..........And green as we came to the cemetery. Green as we lowered them down.
..........And then a sea of black umbrellas as we walked back to our cars under the rain of our most holy Lord (who has made the rain.)
..........This was the first time Silence paid us a long visit. He was there when we arrived. My aunts had brought us home and my mother dismissed them so she could play hostess to her new guest.
I was terrified to have him in our house. I sat on the edge of my bed with my door open. The light from the living room made a triangle of light on my floor, a rectangle on my wall. I kicked my legs and waved my hands and made shadows on my floor, on my wall, so I could see where I was, see how big I was. Outside, Silence was talking to my mother.
..........I don’t know exactly how to explain this. I don’t think Silence quite knew what he was doing there with us, though he seemed happy enough. We barely got a word in. We didn’t want to. We didn’t want to tell him the truth. He had not been invited for a comfortable. Or for a visit after a lover’s intimate embrace. Or becuase we had just put the baby down.
..........How could we tell him he was here because of our loss? This was his least favorite kind of visit. My mother and I just let him go on and on as if nothing were wrong. He was so pleased to be with us, we couldn’t break the news. My mother caught my eye and we mentally agreed to keep quiet till the morning.
..........I was young at my funeral and I’ve never heard of anyone bringing a camera to a memorial service. I remember pink and green and black and Silence. I remember the chairs in the funeral that matched the carpet in the funeral parlor. I remember my feet not touching the floor. I remember the chairs so close that we all rubbed shoulders.
..........When we lowered their coffins in, the thought kept pounding in my head. They’re not in there. That’s not where they are.
..........They’re not in there. That’s not where they are.
..........We visited their gravestone which indicated, “Here lies...” But that’s not true.
..........They’re not in there. That’s not where they are. Not where they are.
..........I wanted to tell my mother to take me where they really were, but that would mean we would have to go to the Big Water. And I think she would have. So I never said anything and followed her along on her weekly monthly yearly visits to the graveyard. The yard of graves. Pink flowers on a gray gravestone in a green cemetery. Two brown heads bowed, four brown hands praying.
..........“Let our tears flow like a river which the Lord has made. Let our sin be washed away in our sadeness. Let our sadness and sin cry to be made clean by the water of loss. Then et our loss drown in the ocean of the Lord’s love.
..........“In the ocean of the Lord’s Love.”
..........I didn’t understand. The Lord must have thought I was ungrateful. But why be washed away?
..........But the death of my brother and sister wasn’t the reason we stopped going to church. Part of our service includes a procession to the pastor. We cup our hands to him and he spoons a small amount of sea water into them. We drink the water and pat our wet hands on our heads. The first time we went back to church after the funeral, the pastor poured the water into my hands and it began to steam. Forgetting my first lesson, I screamed out, “It hurts! The water hurts!”
..........How could we show our faces after that?