Three and a half weeks out from the operation and it’s still a tough recovery. The left side of my face still swollen and throbbing. The swelling has come down somewhat, but barely noticeable. It’s a struggle to pronounce certain words. The left leg looks like someone else’s leg, not mine.
However, I knew going into this that it was a full eight-week recovery minimum. At least my foot was able to squeeze into a loosely strung sneaker so that GV and I could walk out to Chelsea pier yesterday and today.
It’s a mile out so the two-mile walk was refreshing and at least I’m not limping like I was last week.
Today when we arrived at our normal spot out at the end of one of the piers, we happened upon a group of about 18 people standing in a circle. All the other tables along the pier were occupied. The group had their bags and items piled on three of the four tables which left an unoccupied empty table in the corner by the water. We just had to slid by them to get at it. It was a choice table at the water’s edge on the Hudson.
As we sat there, we could hear one person in the group speaking softly for a while, then another. They were all in their 40’s and 50’s and well dressed (suits and Sunday best). On one table was a laptop, music player, flowers and an urn. It was obvious they were having a funeral/burial ceremony. GV and I listened, observed, and hung out contemplating the flow of the river. The group continued for at least another 45 minutes, each looking very respectful to the person speaking. Every once in a while the group would all laugh.
At the end, they gathered around the bannister near us at the water, then tossed the urn into the river. Whatever it was made of, it made a heavy kerplunk and immediately sank. Their loved one was just buried at sea, at the tidal mouth of the Hudson River. We didn’t see it from the beginning, but from where we did, it was beautiful ceremony. I was thinking that the person being honored could not have been more pleased with such a noble way to go.
When they left, the remains of whomever it was that was tossed into the water stayed. After they dispersed GV found a beautiful pedal from the flowers they had. She picked it up, took a picture of it, and tossed it into the river around the spot where the urn sank.
Years ago GV and I both wrote down similar wishes for our ends. Both involve tossing the urn or ashes in a certain part of the world. Hopefully, that will be a few decades away. Nevertheless, the process seemed simple, dignified, bright and with a focused group of people who cared.
Anyway, enough of that. On a much brighter note, I also had the opportunity to see niece E and her mate A and share a noshette with them.
I was out of town for her last two visits to NYC so it was nice to finally share a visit, even if it was not so easy talking.
Now, it’s high time I get off my ass (I had to have my leg elevated anyway) and get back to work. Throbbing or not, I’m not debilitated. Just slow moving. The good news about slow moving is that you never know what you’ll happen upon…..