There is a painting in my living room done by our sister Susie. It shows Carlie approaching the water’s edge at an east coast Delaware seashore. She is in motion – her feet are just touching the wave washed water and she is looking beyond the breaking waves as though she seeks the secrets of from where those forces come. Her shadow spills out to the left of her onto the countless sands. It betrays the shape of an old soul, cast as it is by a young child.
One evening, I put Carlie to bed and as any single parent will, I took advantage of the quiet time to get some needed work done. I was paying bills and listening to the soulful Irish sounds of Enya playing softly on the stereo. Carlie came down stairs with big rolling tears in her eyes. I picked her up and holding her close, asked her softly if she had a bad dream that may have awakened her. She replied, “No daddy, it’s the music.”
“The music? Did the music wake you up?”
“Yes.” She tearfully replied.
“Is it too loud? Do you want me to turn it down?”
“No, daddy. I love that music, but it’s too beautiful and it makes me cry.”
Carlie was killed in a drunk driving collision in Green River, Wyoming on January 1, 1998. She was five years old. I think all of us stand at the edge of the sea these days and seek the secrets of from where those forces come.
We played Enya at her funeral.
The beautiful music drifted over us.
And we cried.
Carl McDonald
4/21/2011
