A month and a half ago I wanted to write a blog about death and life. I had vague impressions I wanted to express in writing. The cycle of life and its beautiful, albiet, somewhat meaningless circularities. This unwritten post is now buried by death itself.
I remember packing before we came back to the States. To bring or not to bring was the question. The question fell to my nice, sleek, Calvin Klein pinstripe dark suit. "What will I need it for? I'm not going to any weddings in the coming year... Alright, I'll bring it..."
That suit traveled across the world and swiftly into my closet in Maryland. I wished it "goodbye" as I got on another plane and arrived in Colorado. It wasn't but a week later that I flew, once again, to Maryland. Arrived, opened the closet and put on the suit. It fit me well and was comfortable. At least something was comfortable that day I said "goodbye" to my Grandma Hanlon. I remember the open casket and not being able to fix my attention upon her face. All I could do was look at a picture of her in her young 20s. She looked so radiant... strong... beautiful. I later put the suit back in that same closet, hoping I wouldn't see it again for a while, and went back to Colorado.
Almost one month later, I learned that I'd need the suit again. This time I'd need it in Iowa. Called my brother and made sure he'd bring it with him. Arrived in Iowa and that night I said "hello" to that sleek suit. I took it out of its black bag and thought I should get it dry-cleaned after I said "goodbye" to my Grandma Nicolino. Open casket the next day... My heart broke when Grandpa wept as he said "goodbye." I couldn't help but think about when they were young, vibrant and full of energy. They had so many rich years together.
My brother asked if I wanted him to take my suit back to Maryland. "No, that's okay... You shouldn't be left without a suit." I arrived back in Colorado, took that suit and said "goodbye" again as I put it in a closet. "Listen, suit, I don't want to see you again, you hear? Stay in this closet and stop interrupting my life." That's probably what I would have said if my emotions expressed themselves in words.
Seventeen days later I greeted that suit again. We walked down the church aisle, the small casket in front of us. This time I couldn't imagine a time when he was young, vibrant or strong...I couldn't imagine a look of optimism on his face. All I could see was my own son, a fullterm stillborn, Asa Timothy Hanlon. And so I said "goodbye" to him with a flower and a prayer, clad in a sleek Calvin Klein suit.
Now the suit hangs in my closet, once again. Will I need it? Probably. Will I need it soon? I hope not. If there's one thing I've learned practically in the last three months, it is this: it's unsuitable to be left without a suit.
Our festive garment: the suit. A garment for the deepest of joys and the heartbreaking moments of pain. To look amazing when life is at its greatest and at its worst! Why do we have to look good when life breaks? Why can't we tear our suit jacket, throw dust, and beat our chest? I guess if we did that, we'd have to buy a lot more suits...
I remember packing before we came back to the States. To bring or not to bring was the question. The question fell to my nice, sleek, Calvin Klein pinstripe dark suit. "What will I need it for? I'm not going to any weddings in the coming year... Alright, I'll bring it..."
That suit traveled across the world and swiftly into my closet in Maryland. I wished it "goodbye" as I got on another plane and arrived in Colorado. It wasn't but a week later that I flew, once again, to Maryland. Arrived, opened the closet and put on the suit. It fit me well and was comfortable. At least something was comfortable that day I said "goodbye" to my Grandma Hanlon. I remember the open casket and not being able to fix my attention upon her face. All I could do was look at a picture of her in her young 20s. She looked so radiant... strong... beautiful. I later put the suit back in that same closet, hoping I wouldn't see it again for a while, and went back to Colorado.
Almost one month later, I learned that I'd need the suit again. This time I'd need it in Iowa. Called my brother and made sure he'd bring it with him. Arrived in Iowa and that night I said "hello" to that sleek suit. I took it out of its black bag and thought I should get it dry-cleaned after I said "goodbye" to my Grandma Nicolino. Open casket the next day... My heart broke when Grandpa wept as he said "goodbye." I couldn't help but think about when they were young, vibrant and full of energy. They had so many rich years together.
My brother asked if I wanted him to take my suit back to Maryland. "No, that's okay... You shouldn't be left without a suit." I arrived back in Colorado, took that suit and said "goodbye" again as I put it in a closet. "Listen, suit, I don't want to see you again, you hear? Stay in this closet and stop interrupting my life." That's probably what I would have said if my emotions expressed themselves in words.
Seventeen days later I greeted that suit again. We walked down the church aisle, the small casket in front of us. This time I couldn't imagine a time when he was young, vibrant or strong...I couldn't imagine a look of optimism on his face. All I could see was my own son, a fullterm stillborn, Asa Timothy Hanlon. And so I said "goodbye" to him with a flower and a prayer, clad in a sleek Calvin Klein suit.
Now the suit hangs in my closet, once again. Will I need it? Probably. Will I need it soon? I hope not. If there's one thing I've learned practically in the last three months, it is this: it's unsuitable to be left without a suit.
Our festive garment: the suit. A garment for the deepest of joys and the heartbreaking moments of pain. To look amazing when life is at its greatest and at its worst! Why do we have to look good when life breaks? Why can't we tear our suit jacket, throw dust, and beat our chest? I guess if we did that, we'd have to buy a lot more suits...
This is profound and just made tears stream. I never thought of the many purposes of a suit. Praying for your continued healing and trust in a Good God. You definitely possess a gift in writing.
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