death and life

death is one of the weirdest parts of life.

i don't know that i will ever understand it or even reach a place of being remotely o.k. with it, even though i know i have come a long way, a very long way, in being "o.k."

i am sitting in the next room while my grandfather is struggling just to breathe. it doesn't seem right or fair. and i find myself also struggling for breath when i am standing or sitting awkwardly next to him, not knowing what to say or do other than the moment when i touched his hand and said "i love you paw paw."

i do not know where the strength or composure came from when my dad asked me to sing. but i do know that the lump in my throat was so large at times i didn't think any air would come out, much less a note, and even lesser - a note that would sound half-way decent.

but somehow, it did.

i sang the verses of hymns. i sang the verses and choruses of worship songs. i gently plucked the strings on the guitar which was the last guitar my grandmother gracefully touched. the very strings that have been on the little guitar since just before she left this world for the next. they are dull and have nearly lost their brightness.

paw paw has nearly lost his strength. it's crazy to look at him and think this is the same man who busted the earth under a hot summer sun, toiling for hours a day to make a rich garden grow beside the river bank. the man who worked with wood and had a wonderful wood shop where he built amazing bird houses and feeders. the man who made his own suet. the man who has built homes. the man who taught me to fish with a bamboo pole. the man who let me drive his pickup way before i was sixteen.

he doesn't look like that man.

in fact, when i first came in this morning, i thought "he isn't really here anymore. not really." in some ways, he is an impression, a fossil of sorts pressed by the hands of time and loss and hard work.

in the midst of all these thoughts, there are more thoughts going through my mind...

there is a sacredness here today. at my grandparents' home.

it was sacred, to sing those hymns and realize how many of them are about life. and Who life is.

it was sacred to say i love you.

it is sacred and comforting to hear the normalcy of the wind chimes. to hear my dad in the kitchen, preparing food. to know my aunt judy is on her way from the store. to hear my uncle bennie answer the phone with his gentle "hello."

it is good and healing in the midst of deep heartache, to hear a light chuckle from time to time, even in the darkness of sorrow and pain.

it is good to know my extended family is going to be here soon.

it is good to know that my grandparents will be reunited soon.

it is good to know that we are not alone. and it is good to be loved. by my family. by my partner. by my Lord. and to know that they all are near.

i look out at the view from the porch, the tennessee river still meandering along the banks of massive hills, though the landscape has changed a bit since i first met her. and that same view that brings me comfort and sadness all at once is the one that gives me the peace i need today.

and though (this is hard to admit) i am afraid of grief and anxious when i think of loss of any kind, i know somehow that i will be o.k.

and a hawk, my symbol of hope, flew over the mud brown water. and disappeared into the greenery of the hills.