At the tip of the Ile de la Cite (an island in the center of Paris,) a Weeping Willow's long, tender branches caress the Seine as it splits and goes around her on either side. The Seine was dark and agitated that evening, glistening under the moon's light and a steady drizzle. Bundled up, we walked with Julie's sister Christine under the Weeping Willow to the edge of the island to say goodbye to our cousin Julie, who died a short while ago.
The Weeping Willow reminded me of the one we played under as children in her yard, that night as the branches danced around us, and the roots held us in place, memories of Julie swept by in the rush of the Seine, floating, circling, undercurrents of chocolate. We stood listening to her burning in our hearts, tears dropped and slide into the Seine. No words uttered as we sang in silence our love and sorrow, goodbye dear cousin.
How do you say goodbye to someone alive in your heart and their voice echoing inside you?
You don't.
We learn to live with them differently as their energy soaks into us.
It was a beautiful evening;
Nature's fanfare was elegantly on display.
Love tightly holding us.
A shared sorrow, what a gift it is to be able to love and not be completely broken by it.
Death is brutal to look at;
it is hard to hold and harder yet when it comes and stares blankly, trying to scare or knock us off our footing.
We needed closure as a family, to send her beyond us yet anchored within us,
Julie was part of our lives. She is woven between us. She is part of our fiber.
We raised her sail that night.
We shared stories.
Last conversation.
Funny moments.
We looked into each other's eyes and saw her with us.
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