My uncle Rollin died when I was still a child. Daddy traveled to Tuscaloosa, Alabama for his brother’s funeral. There, my father and Aunt Estelle surely consoled one another. The next year, we visited Tuscaloosa on a family vacation. At the completion of the vacation, our leaving was particularly hard on Aunt Estelle and my father. I remember them weeping.
The tearing nature of parting with loved ones depends upon whether the sound of time’s winged chariot intrudes upon the farewell implying a permanent mortal separation. The age, health, and perception of those at the gathering all contribute weight. As a youth I felt remote and separated from the occasional parting sadness, but now I’m becoming increasingly acquainted with these little deaths.
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