SPIRIT REUNION

For years the sculpture has stood as a testament to a life tragically cut too short. The love of parents for any child cannot be measured, but sometimes it can be eloquently expressed.

Historic Oakwood Cemetery has been a favorite photographic haunt of mine for decades.
Angels and angles paired with light, texture and tone offer many opportunities for poignant and powerful images. Grave markers in soft rows and small clusters marking little family histories, some so very telling and sad give anyone a chance to feel a sense of place, the impermanence of a lifespan and quiet dignity within these grounds.
On a secluded hilltop hovers a marble angel. This image is loosely anchored to the earth and her face and hands cradle the image of a boy's face.
The angel's soft gaze and the hands that cradle him evoke love and loss.
Her ropy hair is a testament to the talent of the sculptor and there is little damage from the constant dirt and acid rain.
I have hundreds of images of this sculpture and have been there on bright days, wet days, before sunrise and after the sun has rested well behind the image.
This memorial is there to mark the life and passing of Wade Edwards, the son of Elizabeth and John Edwards, whose lives have been observed, judged and made so very public. In my opinion, no matter what they experienced in the past few years, their ability to honor and esteem their child's life was always their mark of true character.
With her passing, Elizabeth's remains will join those of her son.
She lives now beyond her tortured body and in the gentle hands of the Eternal.
Cancer never wins - the human spirit and soul are the true victors.
Elizabeth's interment in Oakwood may create, for a while, a pilgrimage of admirers wishing to pay their respects as best they can.
Maybe the smaller tokens of memory for Wade around the sculpture will be moved for a while, maybe the reflecting bench will be moved and surely the grass will suffer.
Come Spring, things will be back to normal and the little flowers in the plot will burst forth and the little turn in the gravel road will be more quiet.
I will leave the space alone for a while.
I will think about the angel, its creation and my thought that the hands that hold Wade's head are modeled after those of his mother.
I will also think that, in a far more wonderful place, the forever young Wade will cradle his mother's weary head, welcoming her into an eternal, celestial embrace.
© tim www.timjohnsonphoto.com