Sunday we celebrated a beautiful Easter with family and friends. For whatever reason, this year we had many different people there...friends of mine, friends of Robert, friends of my brothers. We also shared the day with my mom's family...my uncle, aunt, two cousins, and my aunt's mom. Both of my grandmothers have been gone for some time now (they are dancing with Him) and my aunt's mom is really the only "grandmother" figure I have in my life. She is always a part of our family gatherings. We have shared numerous Thanksgivings, Christmas', and Easter's with her and it wouldn't feel right without her there.
She is a vibrant, beautiful woman--full of life and full of love for life. She has always cherished the girls', calling them "true blessings" and "little miracles." Even though our Easter was a potluck of people, so to speak, everyone had a wonderful time. Laughter and love filled the air. My aunt's mom especially enjoyed this day and it was clear to all of us how much she cherished being there with her family, making gravy for the dinner (because her's is THEE best), socializing with everyone, watching the girls laugh and play, taking in the beauty of the day, of life.
Tuesday morning, my aunt's mom most unexpectedly, passed away. While I do not know the details, I know that it began as a headache and then quickly progressed to much more. She suffered a brain hemmorhage and within hours, went home to be with Him. Her passing was so abrupt, so sudden and it has left us all in complete shock.
My mom shared with me that in this woman's good-bye to my brother and sister-in-law on Easter day, she said to them "Have a great life." Which struck them as an odd way to say good-bye to two people that you are most likely going to see again at a family gathering in the next 6 months.
In my own good-bye with her, we embraced and I said, "I hope we see you again really soon." She said, "Me too." Okay, nothing odd about that, but what was odd was this overwhelming feeling as I said that very line to her, knowing that we would not see her again. I shook it off as weird and thought to myself, "Why on earth would you think something like that Danna." But even still, there was a peace about knowing...it was her time. He was calling her home.
Perhaps others may have had similar experiences...I don't know. One thing was for certain, she was glowing on Sunday. She was living life, enjoying every minute of that day, taking in all in...and I am so grateful that we were able to spend such a glorious Easter day with her.
After talking with my mom late last night about her passing, Robert and I laid in bed shocked. We then carried on a conversation of losing people close to us...the thought of losing each other, our parents, our brothers and sisters, our cousins, our girls. I know that sounds kind of dark and dreary, but it's a reality we both know that we will face.
When? We do not know.
What we do know is that this life has no guarantee attached to it. Each day, each moment, each breath is a gift--none of which we are promised.
So how do you live knowing that any moment could be your last? Your husband's last? Your child's last? How do you not live in fear, especially so after losing someone close to you?
Well, we cannot live like we are going to die...at least we cannot live life fearing our death. We simply have to live a life of meaning and fullness. Ahhh, easier said than done in this day and age. You do what you can.
You don't go to bed angry...with anyone, not your spouse, not your children.
You kiss your children goodnight...and then one more time before you go to bed...even though you've done it a few hours earlier and they are sound asleep.
You don't sweat the small stuff...the pile of laundry, the stack of papers to file, the dust on the dining room table, the heaping mountain of who-knows-what that has graced the desk for far too long.
You put work aside until later when you have a little hand tugging at your shirt asking you to go play outside on "swings and slides."
You make time for friends and family, even though there simply aren't enough hours in the day.
You do the "little things" that really matter to loved ones...and then to and for those you don't even know.
And while I know that this life is only but a momentary distraction from our eternal life with Him, I also know how losing loved ones rocks you to your core. You miss them more than anything, because selfishly, you want them here...not there...at least not yet.
But until that day when we dance with Him, we need to dance here...living life to its fullest, enduring the good, the bad, the happy, the sad, the highs, the lows, the pleasures, the pains...
...because it is in that dance that we truly discover who we are and the meaning of it all. We learn how to live life for each breath, each moment, each day...to it's fullest, no matter what it holds...with one another...for one another.
The Dance
No comments:
Post a Comment