Secrets of the Blue Door
A heart wrenching memoir that speaks of courage as well as sends a message that everyone should read
Flashback – January 27, 1976
Cold grey sky fell misty upon the juniper trees. Silence, broken by raven’s raucous callings, was all that dared to pierce the morning cold. I stood there, shivering as I stared into a large menacing hole carved out of the frozen ground. My glasses, smudged from hurried wipes, gave me only a shiny glimpse of children lined up along the precipice. A small-framed woman with heavy eyes of sorrow wrapped her long coat around the smallest of her two little girls. I barely recognized others standing there. Occasional blades of sunlight seemed out of place; inevitable sadness was about to intensify. The monotonous eulogy now lost in my memory. People solemnly lined up in procession like I had never seen before. The women were dressed in black, and one carried a large wooden cross.
Looking down at the silvery casket, my heart crying, Why him, why? The procession moved closer to the fresh pile of soil. Each person took a portion of it in his hand, an offering to the dead. What a shame, I thought, to throw dirt on his coffin. How could that have any meaning? Unwillingly I followed along, bowing to the waiting soil. Cold in my hand, the grains of sand and chips of rock pressed into my skin. I squeezed as hard as I could, wanting to take away the pain of that death-soil. That caused me to reflect on a nail in the hand of one before me who loved even beyond the grave.
“Let go, just let go,” I heard a woman behind me whisper. “Just let go.”
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