Eulogy in London Mass
(By Nicolette Cavaleros)
(Waleed's Fiancee)
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There are few words that can adequately express my gratitude for the kindness and generosity that so many of you continue to show me, and all of my family. The days would be darker if not for your love and caring. On September 13th Toni Morrison wrote: “Some have God’s words; others have songs of comfort for the bereaved. If I can pluck courage here, I would like to speak directly to the dead – the September dead. Those children of ancestors born in every continent on the planet: Asia, Europe, Africa, the Americas…; born of ancestors who wore kilts, obis, saris, geles, wide straw hats, yarmulkes, goatskin, wooden shoes, feathers and cloths to cover their hair. But I would not say a word until I could set aside all I know or believe about nations, war, leaders, the governed and ungovernable; all I suspect about armor and entrails. First I would freshen my tongue, abandon sentences crafted to know evil – wanton or studied; explosive or quietly sinister; whether born of a sated appetite or hunger; of vengeance or the simple compulsion to stand up before falling down. I would purge my language of hyperbole; of its eagerness to analyze the levels of wickedness; ranking them; calculating their higher or lower status among others of its kind. Speaking to the broken and the dead is too difficult for a mouth full of blood. Too holy an act for impure thoughts. Because the dead are free, absolute; they cannot be seduced by blitz. To speak to you, the dead of September, I must not claim false intimacy or summon an overheated heart glazed just in time for a camera. I must be steady and I must be clear, knowing all the time that I have nothing to say – no words stronger than the steel that pressed you into itself; no scripture older or more elegant than the ancient atoms you have become. And I have nothing to give either – except this gesture, this thread thrown between your humanity and mine: I want to hold you in my arms and as your soul got shot of its box of flesh to understand, as you have done, the wit of eternity: its gift of unhinged release tearing through the darkness of its knell.” Darling, darling Waleed, It is weeks since a clear blue September morning when we held each other, saddened by the thought that for the first night in many months we would sleep apart. Who knew then, my love, that as we whispered ‘tomorrow’ and smiled at its promise, that tomorrow would never come. My life was changed forever when we fell in love. It changed again forever when you died. In the short time that was ours, my eyes opened fully to the joy of an ordinary life. Through the power of our love, the communion of our souls, the wonder of our hopes and our dreams I came to live fully in the present. Here I stand, as I stood 3 weeks ago before a similar gathering of family and friends. I spoke then, of an all too real present. It is still too real. And now I am not only one member of one family devastated by the events of Tuesday September 11th. I am also one of the world’s many mourning the losses that only began on that bright and crisp Tuesday morning. The enormity of the pain and horror of your death is bigger than me, than all of us. The world has leapt from the brink into a new reality. Undefined. Unknown. Impermanent. Just as it has always been. But different. And now I watch, stunned, as the world moves on. I watch with the awful knowledge that you will always remain on the brink. The world was truly your oyster and you knew it and relished it. So many people continue to speak of your love of life, the enthusiasm and the dignity with which you took it on. Your ability to live with the living. Your kindness and compassion and how you touched so many lives. Your glorious smile and crazy giggle. The unadulterated joy with which you experienced everything. It was my honour and my privilege, and my life’s greatest gift to be the one that you danced with, whose hand you held, whose shoulder you rested on, whose ear you whispered into. Your partner. I want to tell the world how you set me free by loving me unconditionally. I want to share how you made the world a more beautiful place by making me laugh, by letting me cry, and through your sheer determination that both of us would become all that we could, together. I want to speak of the power of making yourself vulnerable to me, and trusting me. I suspect you’re rolling your eyes because this is way too serious, right? Too serious, in front of too many people. But maybe not. You’re probably looking at me and aching because you want to hold me and share my pain. Don’t worry about me, baby, I’m strong, and I have a legacy of living to do. For both of us. It was not my fate to be with you at your end, to comfort you and protect you from danger and evil. So instead I promise that I will live with the living. Slowly in the beginning. It will take time to mourn your loss… You still had so much to give. I saw it in your eyes every time you looked at a child. Your intense longing to be a father, to build what you called ‘our own little family’. You still had so much to experience. I remember the countless discussions of how we could balance trekking the silk route from China to Pakistan with having a family. How you wanted a summer-house in the sun and to go to the Grand Prix in Monaco. How you wanted to teach our children to sail. You still had so much to build. A business. Our marriage. I think of that night just a few weeks ago when we read the page about marriage from “Tuesdays with Morrie” and we were so excited because we had what Morrie said we needed: mutual respect, willingness to compromise, a common set of values, the ability to talk openly. And above all, our belief in the importance of our marriage. Yes, it will take time. Time in which you wont run to meet me when you hear my key in the front door. Neither will you do that little jig from foot to foot with that look of delirious joy upon seeing me. Nor all the other bejillion little things you did that made our life together so special. Like riding every mile with me in Tuscany despite the fact that you could have ridden out front way ahead. And holding my hand to reassure me on my first open-water dive in the Seychelles when we swam with whale sharks and dived with rays. Like grinning with delight when you found your favourite stuff in the fridge. And eating a week’s tabouleh in a day and a carton of Pulp Addiction ice-cream in one sitting. Like spending hours on eBay to buy pair of Madonna tickets because I said I wanted to go. And dancing the night away in each other’s arms at Café de Paris. Like your infinite excitement about getting married and throwing the party of our lives on a cliff-top in Santorini overlooking the sunset. Time, not only for me but also for the myriad lives that you touched so deeply. People have written to all of us to speak of your impact on them. The themes are the same, my love: you listened, you reached out with compassion, you knew how to party, you were so smart, and so unbelievably humble. And you had grace and style. But most of all, you knew what mattered and you did it willingly and with an open heart. Khalil Gibran said: When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight. There is great sorrow here, my love, simply because you were our delight. Each of us has treasured memories and moments – Randy and Ronald and the double diamond ski runs in Utah; Maria and pillow fights in London hotels, Sany and your ski-boat somehow always parked in his backyard, your mom flying to Boston at a moment’s notice because you needed her, Charles and trips to Thailand and Turkey, Jill and Eddie on safari in Africa, Max in India, Lara and eating Mirel’s favourite meals at Mirel’s favourite restaurants in Paris, Joseph and the Chinese masks, May and margaritas in Epcott Centre’s Mexico… We all turn to our memories now, each sharing our special stories about how you touched our lives. These memories cannot fill the gaping hole in our lives. Like New York, our skyline will never be the same. We are forever changed. But we will rebuild. And we will be stronger. Thank you for telling me often that you were so happy. Thank you for opening your heart to my family and my friends, and for sharing your family and friends with me. Thank you for pushing me to be all that I can and for believing in me. Thank you for showing me that it is possible to take whatever life throws at you, and to make the most of it. Thank you for choosing to be with me, and for calling it the best question you ever asked. Since I cannot fax this poem to the place where you will be resting tonight I will read it to you: Love is not all: it is not meat nor drink Nor slumber nor a roof against the rain; Nor yet a floating spar to men that sink And rise and sink and rise and sink again; Love can not fill the thickened lung with breath, Nor clean the blood, nor set the fractured bone; Yet many a man is making friends with death Even as I speak, for lack of love alone. It well may be that in a difficult hour, Pinned down by pain and moaning for release, Or nagged by want past resolution’s power, I might be driven to sell your love for peace, Or trade the memory of this night for food. It well may be. I do not think I would. I love you with the “breath, smiles, tears of all my life”. As I begin my life’s next journey without you, I know that nothing can stand against the power of love; not death, not fear, not anger and not evil. Farewell, my darling Waleed. Peace. |
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