A Window into Life in the Suburbs

"Consider how the lilies grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you, not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these." Luke 12:27 (NIV)

Friday, April 6, 2012

Good Friday #2

We had lunch at a friend's place this afternoon out in Jimboomba. The thing one learns very quickly when residing in the great continent of Oz is that even a 40 minute drive out to more remote areas is not considered far. Afterall this is very big country. Not that Jimboomba is out of civilization's reach (although roads seem to be in a poor state of repair) but these days affordable large blocks of land requires a bit traveling to get to.
On average I travel 20 minutes to work and some of my students actually think that's far until I tell them that I used to do a 40 minute drive into the CBD, most of it spent idling and steering-wheel drumming on the freeway some time during 7 to 7:30 in the morning. Nope, I don't miss that. Did the bus thing too at one point but two buses each way plus waiting around in between =  one hour (if I'm lucky). But one should expect to travel some way to get to work.

So onward to Jimboomba it was...  and a large group (as it turned out) from church also turned up. And as it is always the case with our church, we were extremely well-fed. I, too, contributed to the festivities with my usual dumpling schtick.
Yeah, I know I'm typecasting myself. But it's a no-brainer and I can almost make them blindfolded. "Almost" because I don't really want to knife myself chopping the ingredients and lose bits of skin (best case scenario) in the process.

A couple of hours later we headed off, partly because I was beginning to get that nebulous yuck feeling again and partly because we had planned to go grave visiting.

A good plan. Yes. Unfortunately, we got... er... a bit lost... which is supposedly an embarrassing thing to confess to.
Perhaps it reflects our chaotic state of mind, but we never seem to remember where the grave stone is actually located and each year the occupancy status of the lawn in question increases and with that the floral content, making the exact spot harder to find.

After strolling a bit, the husband found mum's final resting place and then 5 year old wanted to know if grandma was really... you know... buried under her feet. For five long seconds there, when she started carrying on about wanting to know what grandma looked like, I was convinced that she was going to fall on her knees and start digging.

This year, as it happens, the anniversary of mum's death falls on Good Friday. It gives the occasion greater poignancy and doubles the meaning for me.
I'm not sure that it's the distance of years that makes the death of a loved one easier to bear. At least in my experience, it isn't. This year as I stood at my mother's grave, that feeling of lingering resentment that I felt when I lost her seemed to have lost its grip on me.
Previously even when I gave mental assent to the fact that she was in a better place, I always felt that it was unfair that she was taken from me at a time when I needed her the most. But this year, with everything's that happened to me in the past 6 months, I've come to see the hand of Providence in all things in a way I hadn't before. That part of the journey has enabled me to let go and move on.

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