Red

~Red~

Surrounded by the charged scenery of Brooklyn, New York, I am a passenger in my soon to be, father in law's '94 Bronco.

John, a very religious yet laid back man somehow provides me with a sense of comfort . There is an unexplained feeling of safety that exists when I am in his presence. Perhaps it is because he is...was...a reverend. Though, it could also be that he is married to the most beautiful, woman of grace, Mirta Daalling, the mother of my best friend, Matthew...my soul mate.

Passing the most breathtaking cemetery for what seemed to go on for miles, I am overwhelmed by the story that lies behind the tall black iron gates. Green-Wood, founded in 1838 as one of America's first rural cemeteries, offering 478 acres of tranquility. Hills, valleys, glacial ponds and paths, throughout which exists one of the largest outdoor collections of 19th- and 20th-century statuary and mausoleums. Green-Wood is a Revolutionary War historic site (the Battle of Long Island was fought in 1776 across what is now its grounds). It is currently the final resting place to over 560,000 permanent residents.

Fearing such grounds since my childhood, this particular moment in time has me inspired. A sudden internal desire to capture the tale and astounding images of this landmark coincides with the topic opened up in front of me between John and Matthew. As the Bronco's engine roars over the uneven pavement, my hearing clearly takes in the story of this past Christmas, when Mirta visited her mother's grave. I has studied not only the detail, but the emotion released of John's perspective to watching her place a blanket over nature's solitude that protects the woman who brought her into this world. What must have been running through her mind and flooding her heart, as she anchored the blanket into the compacted dirt, I could only imagine. I have lost many loved ones in my time, but my mother, although unhealthy, remains with me. therefore, I would not be able to fully understand the combination of pain and peace she must have carried within at that very moment. John continued to express his vision of the magnificent resplendence allowing himself to fall into the energy of the hundreds of Red blankets surrounding him.

My mind, now powerfully curious, hungered to know what the colour red represented.

Red, the warmest of all colours has many meanings. When released from the body, and met by oxygen blood assumes the colour of red. As such, it influences a strong symbolic view we share in life and vitality. It also brings focus to the essence of life and living with an emphasis on survival. Red has been shown through scientific research to increase energy levels and has been believed to sooth the soul by offering protection from anxiety and fear. Mars, often called The Red Planet is known as the God of War. And of course, Red is seen as the colour of passion and desire, as it is often used to stimulate our visual senses. Our strongest emotion, love has for so many generations, been closely related to the colour red.

Why does this cemetery draw me in so deeply? With only a one-way road to lead me to the answer, my camera is in hand, as I find myself on Matt's arm, walking in it's direction. 35th Street and 4th Avenue.

An overwhelming peace becomes my entity. I can feel the purity of each resting soul,  taking in their brief story as I pass each stone of beauty of which holds a unique name, many of which seem to represent either a Spanish or Italian nationality. Hand in hand, we slowly walk up and down each row of plots, trying to find Felicita Mendez. Matt's grandmother. It only seems right that this lady also rests nearby and an honour that he is about to introduce me to her. During our memorable promenade,  I come to plot 691, a spell-binding marble tombstone in the perfect shade of light grey, revealing an engraved cross outlined with flowers over the words "IN GOD'S CARE".  An empty marking, as there are no dates, or specific information other than one bold name..."KELLY". For those who don't know, that is my name. With so many thoughts and emotions racing throughout, I decide to allow myself to become numb, and photograph this moment in time.

There she is. Plot 271. Mrs. Mendez, what a blessing it is to stand before you. You must have been a special lady to have mothered my favourite lady and to have grand mothered my favourite man. My everything. She lays with her husband, Mr. Salas. I have not yet heard about his time in this world, although I am proud to offer my silent respect. Blindly, my heart begins to race as I strongly recognize the third name, and put the pieces together. Carlos Mendez. Felicita's son, Mirta's brother. The inconsolable tale of his unnecessary death at such a young age. My sympathetic greetings to this angel will now be a part of me, para siempre. Rest in peace and God Bless.

As we bid farewell to family and strangers, I glance back one last time and capture the visual photograph that I will cherish always. Returning home at a slow pace, I piece together both my personal and factual findings. The moral of this piece as I commenced to write, was to detail my perception of this landmark targeting the red comfort, warming the fallen at Christmas. There is no doubt that although already favoured, I have a new appreciation for the thriving colour of Red. It has become who I am. Though now, I am able to view these resting places as beauty. No longer fearing the idea of death within. Angels walk among us. They are our mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers, friends and loved ones. Just as we who breath and make every moment count, we  are all children of God, let us always allow our family, friends and legends to live on through us. When placing down this velvet red blanket, remember to also wrap yourself with a piece of it.