My mother tells me that Alva Pentecost is at the Royal Vic, dying in the same hospital in which I was born. Indeed, Alva always enjoyed reminding me that she was one of the first people I met there. My mother and Alva went to school together and have been friends now for more than 75 years. I’ve heard, too, that Pascal Sharpe—a friend of a friend of mine and one grade ahead—died last year at 49. The dead begin collecting slowly enough, I suppose, then faster, like the obituaries between the pages of my mother’s high-school yearbook.
Alva died on May 15, but from what my mother tells me, she got to spend her last few days surrounded by family and friends and talking on the phone with the people who couldn't make it in person.
ReplyDeleteHere’s a link to nice tribute put together by the Montreal Amateur Athletic Association, where she'd been a member since 1944.
Posted to ABC Wednesday.
ReplyDeleteObituaries between the pages of the yearbook. that's very poetic and profound.
ReplyDeleteI'm finding that my yearbook is beginning to fill up too. Aging can be difficult at times.
Yeah, there is an inevitable acceleration of the process.
ReplyDeleteROG, ABC Wednesday team
we are coming closer to the end of the line, day by day
ReplyDeleteIt is amazing the number of friends, family, classmates, coworkers, and acquaintances who are gone.
ReplyDeleteEveryday, we never know what will happen.
ReplyDeleteDolce & Gabbana
Rose, ABC Wednesday Team
So many are gone. This is finely descriptive.
ReplyDeleteJust lost a friend yesterday. This post makes me realize the value of discussing teach in a shared space. Not a happy, but a necessary, inevitable "D"!
ReplyDeleteThat's DEATH and not TEACH (above)!
ReplyDeleteJanis
I noticed that we don't get anymore cards announcing weddings, but funerals !
ReplyDeleteThat's life
Gattina
ABC Wednesday
Added to the regrettable finale of Sunday Scribblings.
ReplyDeleteHow true it is that as a youngster death rarely touches you but time soon rights that and age allows you to join a very big club indeed.
ReplyDeleteYour prose poem captures the collecting of deaths so well and so sadly!
ReplyDeleteAs that Stratford chap wrote, life falls "into the sere, the yellow leaf."
ReplyDeletefunny how the meaning of death changes as we grow older... revealing itself in the collected sunsets...
ReplyDeleteIt's a new year, and Sunday Scribblings 2 is a new place for prompts for writers of whatever genre. I was sorry to see Sunday Scribblings go, so I decided to continue the tradition. Each Wednesday, I will post a new prompt. At midnight Friday, you will be able to link your writing to this site: Sunday Scribblings 2
ReplyDeleteThe prompt is up. Please join us!