In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

JANE STUART 593 CYCLES from Transparencies (1985) It seems strange, looking back, that at the time of death the respectful funeral home silence is punctuated by quiet conversation (relatives) and spurts of nervous laughter (children). I suppose that I was both a child and a relative . When I tired ofstanding in a long reception-like line, meeting people I had heard of but never seen, seeing people from my own past, seeing people I had just met-I wanted to run away, into the rainy February night. But there was no place to go. It was an ungentle nightmare, to be lived through again and again in my thoughts and in my dreams. The long line of old and young filing past my father's casket, looking in at the wax figure wearing glasses; the reception line we formed so uncertainly-do you laugh or cry or do both at the same time? Or escape into the room where there are chairs, cold drinking water, and ashtrays? On the day ofthe funeral-but I don't want to think about that daymy uncle saw to it that our rental car was parked in my mother's garage. The door was closed and a line ofcars blocked its exit. But who would have left? And where was there to go? It was my duty as a daughter to be present at my father's funeral and to be part ofhis burial. I was able to perform that duty-not with any pleasure, but glad, so glad, that I could do what must be done. He had truly gone to earth, after a long, slow, and painful dying. A part of me went with him. Perhaps I better understand now the cycle of being. You can be born, and you can die, many times within one lifetime. You can see your father's face in your son's mischievous eyes. You can hear your mother's voice in your sleep. You can determine, by instinct, the day and time of death. No wonder I am old and being old has made me younger once again. I have passed through several cycles and I have become at last myself again. I only hope that I will not make the mistakes that I made before. I am on my own. No one ofthis world can tell me what to do or how to do it. And there is no voice from the grave to guide me. I am very much alone. And at times I am still afraid. ...

Share