“Their names embraced in granite, with reflective tints of black; Written as a mass to show a sense of unity.”

***

Every Thanksgiving, my family would come together at my grandparent’s mountain house in north Georgia just outside of Helen. We went there mainly so my grandparents would not have to travel. It also is the most central location between all of my family. We are all spread out to where some live in North Carolina, and the rest all over parts of Georgia.

Every Thanksgiving was the same routine. We would pack the night before, go to school, be picked up by Mom and/or Dad a little early and head straight up to the mountains. As that time neared for my parents to check me out of Elementary school, the excitement always grew.

The drive up there seemed like it would take days because of all the anticipation and excitement to see everyone. Once we got onto the highway, it was just trees and cars. There really was not anything to look at. To help pass time, my brother and sisters and I would interact with each other. We often played the classic license plate game, trying to see who could find the alphabet in order first. My younger sister would always “win” partly because she had not quite learned the alphabet.

Another fun past time on the trip was to fight with each other. This game would often get mom and dad involved too. One time, we got into a fight over cup holders. As we drove through a fast food restaurant, my parents started to pass back the drinks. The problem was that the 1990 Toyota Previa we had did not have but maybe 2 cup holders, which were both located in the front. To help compensate, my parents bought several cup holders to hang from the window. We could not find all of the holders so we battled with each other over who would get a cup holder.

If not fighting with each other, my brother and sisters would sleep while I sat and listen to my Sony Walkman. I only had one tape at the time, the Free Willy soundtrack. While listening to the music, I sat there looking out the window at the same repetitive stuff, trees, grass, mountains, nothing exciting. All I could think about was how much fun it would be to go and play tag or capture the flag in some of the fields we passed. This also led to thoughts about what types of stuff us kids would do when we finally could get out of the car. When would we get there?

As the drive continued, we became more and more antsy. Because of this, about an hour into the drive every other thing we said was:
“Are we there yet?”
“Are we there yet?”
“How much longer?”
“Are we there yet?”

When we finally arrived, I always rushed in to greet everyone unappreciative to the true value of those hugs. I was more focused on playing with my cousins. The house offered lots of games and activities for us to entertain ourselves with. The adults often sat around and talked…boring; my cousins, brother, sisters and I would gather down the wooded steps on the lower level where the temperature was always 5-10 degrees cooler than upstairs, and play. We would build forts, play board games, attempt to play pool, hide and seek, and almost any other type of game you can imagine. We really only stopped playing when lunch or dinner was ready. When we would finally come upstairs, the adult’s where still doing the exact same thing, only in a different location. How could people talk that much to each other? At that age, just sitting and talking seemed boring to me. It seemed like they enjoyed being bored.

As I started to get older, the house started to mature with me. Extensions to the house were built to help our growing family. The walls started to become covered with stories. The rugs became more worn in giving the house a true home feeling.
***

Thanksgiving came back around. This time much older, I had to make the travel solo. My brother and sisters were coming from different areas and all were on different schedules. We each had our own lives to live; our once fun filled car rides have now become solo adventures.

Driving solo was good because I could lose myself in my own music as loud as I wanted. I could have some alone time to do, say, think, and listen to whatever I wanted. The music helped thoughts about friends, lovers, jobs, and any other issues cross my mind in positive ways. The thoughts came in and out in non-stressful ways because I knew for one, I could control the music and change the song to more upbeat tunes for more positive thoughts, and two, as soon as I got to the mountain house, all of these thoughts would be gone.

Coming to the end of the highway, the noise and clutter quiets down to the peaceful openness of the mountains. The trees, which are in transition from one state to the next, suddenly have more meaning. They become real and relatable.

Arriving at the house, a much stronger feeling of comfort and warmth circulates through my body. This time the hugs have more meaning behind them. It becomes a type of hug that is for the moment and also for the ages. It gave me a sense of love and comfort, things that a teenager often seeks out. But at the same time, it almost comes routine. I can almost predict where everyone is sitting in the room before I open the door. I can also predict who is going to give me a hug first.

***

Two months before Thanksgiving, I am headed on my way up to the mountain house. Even though the mountain house has become a place that I always look forward to visiting, I did not look forward to going this time. Sure the family was going to be there but not the same type of circumstances as usual. Nowadays, the only time my family can come together is for the holidays. But this was the middle of September and Labor Day, the only holiday near, had already passed.

The drive up there was a much different drive. It was very short, yet long. It allowed for plenty of time to really think about past traditions and memories. There was no upbeat music this time but rather a nice slow melody to make the memories smoothly transition in my mind. The drive was filled with clouds and rain, making the trip even more miserable. The air was damp and cold with not the slightest sight of a sun ray. The grass was wet and the dirt turned into mud.

Not only was the drive different, but the house seemed to have a different vibe as well. The clouds blocked out the beautiful scenery that usually surrounds the house. The trees looked depressed. Drenched in rain, they looked as if they had been crying as well.

Entering the house was a feeling I had never really experienced before. It was a feeling mixed between sorrow, comfort and an overall feeling of something unreal. Instead of a happy welcoming, it was a more embracing welcome. The usual predicted first hug, the hug filled with the most love, was not given. Because of that, nothing felt real. The house was still full of love but by one less lover; my grandmother had passed away.

The stay was short and sweet. The world kept on spinning and we had to get back into it. As I walked away from the house, a tear came to my eye. The day, dark and gloomy with constant rain, represented the true feelings each one of us had, but we covered it up with smiles. As I closed my car door I knew that was it. The reality still has not sunk in and probably will not until Thanksgiving. The memories and experiences in the house and the love that once and still is there, has made the mountain house one special place.

The list of losses inside the sermons pew does not concede to one, but the passing of my dog seems the worst. Discarded sense of literal, maybe I never met the pew for his burial, but no reason for a formal wave goodbye for something as simple as a pet. Still his death meant so much, because I watched it pass. Death, as displayed on screen, is not an easy thing with which to cope, not a two line movie conversation. It’s never quite as glorious as the war depictions show, nor as happy as the medicated comedies. To feel the reality of life disposed, it must touch basis with your heart, not like a movie will, but rather from a touch given by that of someone you where close too. The same it did when he passed. Once you’ve felt the end so close upon your heart, you then begin to question what it’s all for. You hope the best for the passed away connections, but can’t guarantee your wants. When he died I watched his eyes, and they didn’t even close. No signs of souls torn free to float too heaven, but I guess it was never predicted for my dog. Left out perhaps the implications of dog heaven, much the same to ours. If the chance where real, did he find his way? Is he there now enjoying all his time. In me I will always hope hes found some sort of heaven, but without having passed with him, I could never understand where he is now.

I feel the same kind of pain and thought for family losses as I did for him. Questioned the chances of an afterlife condition as beautiful as it sounds. Want the best for them. They always say they’re waiting for you up in heaven, but what if their claim to perfect was different from my own? Would they have been sent into a different version, or do you find all the loves you lost in yours even if they’re in another? Then they’ll reside as just quaint representations of the ones you remembered. It might seem suffice to see them in that light, but it kind of kills the “I’ll see you again”. Literally yes you will, but technically it seems life takes this one against you. Seems it will have replaced what you used to know, with what you will simply recognize. This will satisfy you, and you may not even know the difference, but lies are always hard to spot. Seems we’ll be taken for a fool if heaven does exist unless, as I believe, heaven already exists inside of us. You can never be a fool within your own memories.

“The white of everything shined bright in front of me. Maybe there was a heaven to find. Maybe heaven was not an after death experience but rather moments of perfection graced inside your life. Can only hope that in death your sent to live within those times, the rest of your life in heaven held by memory. A nice compliment to life”

This passage grown from my own hands is where I began to find my way. The character succumbed to realize the possibility of what heaven might really be. As we pass through our days, we combine our senses to form recollection of the times we’ve had. Everyone we’ve loved holds multiple afflictions within our memories. You can’t shake the things that helped shape you, nor destroy the things that help you to smile. All those times under sunlit promises scattered along the lines into your past. Follow them closely and you’ll see how much of them are you. How much every second you remember really means. Even dreams stick with us, as they overtake our sleep. Nightmares the other side to the spectrum. All of it to shape us. Sure not all our past is pleasant, regret will always find its place. Loss of a loved one also sad. Even the worst of things have their silver linings though. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and to you nothing but your own memories will shine quite as bright.

We work to create all these times as we pass through life. Then death finds the better of your world, no way around its pull. The people watch as your caskets lowered, their prayers fallen with you. Your mind though, even dead, I still believe will play. Your soul the power to its screen. As you lay within your final sleep, you watch as memories recollect inside your eyes. From day one till the final sunset, you watch all you have remembered, and it’s beautiful to you. You realize this is a heaven in a sense. Stuck within the happiness you’d long forgotten. The scenes may even be relived to an in depth constriction. The senses overpowered by what you remember as you reach the touch of loved ones closely. Your eyes may read from first person holdings, or maybe from the side. Either way your heart is kept alive as it warms and beats against your memories. This is why in the end you will see your loved ones again, it was not a lie at all. Just under a different light. Any light with them will be well spent.

I can’t forget though, the other side. Strangely enough, as good as heaven sounds, it’s not hard to create a world more perfect than our own. Crime combusted in an entirety around the world, with war scorched pasts from every culture. Screams of buried soldiers who never found their heaven, because we commanded them to hell in battle. Can’t have heaven without hell. Takes the opposite to understand the extremities of the beauty that is heaven. How many have found hell though that have been promised of a heaven. How many have we lied into our minds, really found themselves within the burnings of a fire. It like heaven is hard to fathom, and also hard to prove. It seems though, that if my beliefs where true, hell would not be made of fire, but rather the burns of your regret. You live a life of simple selfishness while hurting those around, then all your memory reads are those times of your imperfection. You must sit inside the scenes of all you’ve done without a happy time to find. Freeze in your own dedication towards the top, just to end at the bottom of our prayers. Enjoy the walls abound your chest, they’ll always hold like the shield you kept between the contact of all those who tried to love you.

My eyes closed as I searched for sleep
the afterlife made by memories
a piece it seems, both of heaven and hell
I’ve done some good, yet bad as well
and now I’ll live inside these times forever