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News & ArtsTuesday, December 20, 2011
Architecture My City of Columbia
Posted by Charles Mudede on Tue, Dec 20, 2011 at 9:01 AM
That tower always centers me...
My mother was buried in a cemetery on a hill beyond Renton—coffin lowered into a dark hole, dirt thrown onto the coffin, people dressed in black, final words about how every life on earth will end ("ashes to ashes, dust to dust"), the crying aunts, the somber uncles, the immediate family dazed and failing to grasp the hard fact of the loss, the fact that their only mother was gone, was actually and irreversibly dead, a human who was now no more than a stone to us, a thing that could not speak, touch, or kiss. As we walked away from the Mexican grave-diggers—they (the muscles of America) appeared right after the ceremony and began filling the hole with earth, shovel by shovel, covering a woman whose body had been ravaged by a disease that never once relieved her of pain—and approached the cemetery's gate, there it appeared in the distance: the top part of the Columbia Center.
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