Our Loss, Heaven's Gain...

We always try to employ all forms of reasoning in an often futile attempt to understand the travesties that we as human beings can mete out on one another, as means of coping with loss.

Some immerse themselves in the realm of television and other forms of escapism, trying to find that happy ending where ever they can, cynically knowing that the odds are stacked against them in the true drama that is real life. Those peaceful periods of time, fraught with "happily ever afters", where notions of eternal love reign supreme, and final credits roll to the tune of whimsical theme songs; us leaving theatres with happy sighs and smiles, when all mysteries are solved to our satisfaction, and the nefarious villain ultimately named. "Who", "why", "what", "where" and "when", all rolled together into a neat little package.

Here I sit, knowing that there will never be "happily ever after", as I ponder our islands’ recent loss, feeling somewhat numb; thinking about her family, and we that will forever be affected by a tragic void that can never be filled. Knowing that the semblance of peace and idealism that has been an integral aspect of our small island lifestyle, has forever been shatterd, as we alter our thinking to look at our neighbours with wary suspicion, and speculation reigns supreme, as we attempt to rationalise these events, as a means of bringing about closure.

Coupled with my own sense of loss, and whilst the saying “…there, but for the grace of god, goes I…” resounds in my head, I remain ever so proud of her. She who has left an indelible legacy for one so young, making her mark via the mechanisms of her activism; her effervescent personality; her spirit, and through those that she loved, and we who in turn loved her.

Though her murderer(s) took her life, they can never take that away from her, or from us. Never one to take a spiritual bent on things, I thought the title of this post most appropriate. I need to feel that she is in a better place as my own personal coping mechanism.

I don't even know what note to exit on.

'Fro.

And The Lamb Shall Lead Them...

My big sis, the newly baptised lamb, has never forgiven me for what she deems my 'irrepressible behaviour' at one of the most important occasions of her life. Yes, she used the word 'irrepressible'. Is so she does talk.

It all started when she was insistent that her hair had to be done two days before the momentous occasion, which I still don't unn'erstand, for she was getting baptised. Why she goin' spend money to wash, curl, and blow dry hair, when the holy waters would jus' mess it up? Illogical.

But for the youngest and eldest of my siblings (the “mutants”), I and the remaining members of my family are all vertically challenged. The pas’on must not have realised that The Lamb was the shortest of his flock as he led them to the baptismal waters, for the 6 ft tall pastor inadvertently took her out too deep. She made an almost inaudible bleat of protest.

I, being the loving a caring sister, watched in snickered apprehension as he led her out further and further, and as alarm gradually entered the Lamb's eyes. But for the bleat, the little trooper uttered nary a word of protest, and docilely followed the pastor to the slau...err...out into the water.

I did indeed ponder if her gradual realisation and potential panic would interfere with her spiritual buzz at that point, as she mentally assessed how to swim in her spiritual robes. I surmised that the pa'son was prob'ly goin' kill her before he saved her.

The pa’son dipped The Lamb’s co-baptisees in a synchronized assembly line, I watching in pseudo-amusement as they all did the ‘Dip and Fall Back’. But, alas, when the diminutive Lamb stepped up to the plate (and gurgled a mouth full of water), she could not do the Dip and Fall Back like the rest of the flock, or she wudda drown.

So, the pa'son improvised, and lifted her off'a her feet 'til she was floating, and we could all see her chipped pedicure. I am still convinced that is only her forehead that got wet, but I have no tangible evidence with which to demonstrate the fact that the spiritual dip had indeed been botched.

The Lamb exited the baptismal waters, wearing her glow of accomplishment (who was I to disillusion her at this point?), walked towards me, looked furtively around, and asked me in panicked undertones: "Lawd, did my hair dye run?"

I nearly dead. This was the final crescendo leading into my ‘irrepressible behaviour’.

I would think that forgiveness would be high on The Lamb’s agenda since taking on her 'new personality', but she is still carrying a grudge. Evidence indeed that the pa'son never dipped her properly.

On that irreverent note, I shall now exit.

'Fro.