The Nature of Life

Hi, guys.

Today is proof that life does not happen the way we expect. I thought that this evening I'd sit down to write a nice long post about Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood and other shows you might find at 4 o'clock in the morning, but I find that my topic has changed. Drastically.

This afternoon, I found out that my grandmother was fading fast, and likely to pass away sometime today. My mom went up to her apartment around 4pm to meet my dad there, and I waited until my little sister got home, and then took my younger sibs up to see her & the rest of the family, and to say our goodbyes.

As the evening progressed, and as we listened to my grandmother's rattled breathing become more & more shallow, everyone in the room, including my dad and two of his siblings, along with many of my grandmother's grand and great-grandchildren became solemn and reverent. It was strange, I think. There were so many people in the room, but everyone was so quiet. We would go half-hours at a time where the only sounds would be occasional sniffing, and the constant sound of my grandmother's labored breathing, which let us know that she was still with us.

I felt helpless and calm, and sad, mostly sad for my dad, his brother, and his sister (my aunt) who could not seem to stop crying. But I also felt that the space had become so sacred, and that is never, never an unhappy feeling. Holiness can be sad, but it isn't unhappy. Isn't that strange? It's sadness & happiness all at the same time.

I'm sorry--my writing is not going to be very good on this post--I'm just trying to get down some thoughts, here.

There was a baby there (my cousin's), and it was so strange to see the juxtaposition of a woman at the end of a very long life, and an infant less than 4 months old just at the beginning of hers. It was good to have a baby there--that reminder of the constant renewal of life was helpful for everyone in the room, I think. My younger sister is also expecting a baby, and I remember glancing over to her at one point, and another sister (the youngest) had her hand on the other's belly, feeling the baby kick.

My older sister brought her oldest child, my seven-year-old niece, who was very quiet & thoughtful. I was very happy that she was there. My mom had my niece on her lap at one point, and whispered to her, "It's not scary, is it. It's just reverent." (My niece nodded).

My mom was absolutely right. The feeling in the room was reverent. I think it was a mix of respect for my grandmother (who spent her life in the service of God--I've never known any human being as charitable as she was) and a knowledge of & faith in the reality of life after death, and that the arms of a loving Heavenly Father waited for her as she passed over.

My grandmother died this evening at about 11pm, surrounded by three generations of her descendants, and, I believe, my desceased grandfather, and the child they had who had died at a young age.

I'm so grateful that I was able to be there and experience the profound feeling of sacredness in the room. I'm so grateful that all of my siblings who could be there were there--I'm just sad that one of us had to be so far away.

Anyway--again, the writing is poor. It's now early in the morning on the 13th, so I guess I have some excuse. I just feel tired & heavy and sad & relieved. And, glad that I can write that & you guys will all understand.

Thanks. Until next time, then.