'son, the last thing you'll realize you need is what you've already got'

Colonel Frank Wilcox. 1829-1917

for some reason i am drawn to the steps leading to the Wilcox headstone at the mt. hope cemetery (ironic much?) whenever i go there. maybe it's the familiarity of that spot, i don't know.

i rode my bike today to go mail my rent check. i rode through the park on lincoln ( a pretty secluded place). there was a boy at one of the picnic tables as i rode by and i felt like i should sit down and talk to him. but i didn't...just kept riding. i ended up going to the cemetery.

i sat on my bike a second and looked at the wilcox headstone when i arrived there. i thought about when i sat there one afternoon last spring.

my chest was heaving from the bike ride and then i started feeling itchy. i could feel my heart beating and i felt so alive. i found it ironic that mine was the only heart beating in the cemetery and how life was going on all around outside of those gates. and then i wondered about frank. and then i teared up a little. it wasn't a wail or a bawl or a weep really. tears just streaming down my face--no sounds.

frank has long since been forgotten and i am discontent with the thought. i cherished the feel of my heart beating in my chest.

i got off my bike and sat on the steps and i wondered how frank died. he had his wife, margaret next to him and two children a boy and a girl--grace and george (i think) below him. and then ella and michael fields on the other side of the wilcox headstone. how did they die? and were they ready? are we ever really ready? what did they look like? what did they do? who were they?

and i almost felt like i could sit there all day and be content wondering about them.

ever since i was small i've had this weird (some say weird, i say eclectic) fascination with graveyards. i made my mom take me to both in poplar grove. i was 7 years old.

am i looking for some sort of connection? some answer that i know i'll never actually find, but i can still hope for?

i was three when my uncle andy died (at the time he was my favorite uncle, everyone loved him, he lit up the room always). after his funeral, i wouldn't let my mom go to any other funeral (and there were a lot that year) unless i accompanied her. i'm not sure i ever let her out of my sight the rest of the year.

i feel like it's all connected somehow.



sweeter dreams.
k