Notes - acceptance

       2144 hours. Dave’s funeral was at eleven in the morning at the Central Presbyterian Church in downtown Massillon. The minister rightly focused on David – no sermon. David had a wooden casket made by the Amish and was buried in a nature park surrounded by Amish. It was a modest Amish burial with overtones of modest Presbyterianism. I stood beside the grave, up front (accidently) with Marcia. I cried. Marcia patted my back. We returned to the nature center where we had food and conversation. Carol, my sister Cathy and I talked mostly to Bob Clawson, Jack Hammond and Charlene Short Hammond. People felt good that David had passed quietly at home. Parkinson’s had won another battle with the physical but not Dave’s spirit. I realized that when I had quickly discovered that David had died on his birthday. A fitting conclusion, a closure that was, to me, all David. He could not talk but his life ended well as far as I am concerned. Only David and perhaps the Holy Spirit could come to such a conclusion. When we arrived back at Kim and Paul’s Cathy drove on back to Westerville. I went in to lie down. I could not eat because I did not feel well. Quickly I fell in one of the terrible illnesses of vomiting and diarrhea. Carol, Kim and Paul tried to comfort me, and did to a point, then, about seven, I’m told, I began crying my heart out. I have not cried like that about a death since my grandfather, Clell Tullar Orndorff, died in the mid-seventies. Paul thought I might have some sort of blockage because the vomit was brown, Carol and Kim thought it was food poisoning, but crying away, I stumbled out with grief, that this was about grief having its way. By eleven the vomiting was over but the diarrhea was not. I had even vomited up the oatmeal I had had for breakfast, it was as if I had just eaten it. This was a reminder that an event can be a learning experience like no other. My heart cared so deeply for David that the mark was set on the favorite man in my life, my grandfather. He was the kindest man, At the funeral many talked about David’s kindness to others. I love David in a different way than I love Bob Pringle. The heart chooses its own depth. I have no need of apology to Bob or anyone else in my life. The heart finds its own level much to my own surprise. Carol said she thought I cared deeper about Dave than I thought because I compared him with Popo Orndorff, the only other time she had witnessed such grief by me.

       You see from this experience that the heart measures in a way sometimes unknown consciously by the same heart. Sincere acceptance is all one can do. Post. - Amorella