vigil

I married into an amazing family (I come from one as well but that's thoughts for another day).  It's an amazing family, large and loving with strong connections to one another and bursting with talent.  Among this amazing and talented family are many successful careers such as doctors, engineers, teachers, lawyers, builders, directors and more mingling with singers, musicians, chefs, caretakers, writers and such.  Some of these are careers and others are occupations that fill our free time.

I envy many of these talents (I know I am not without my own.  but I still have a healthy envy.)  I particularly envy the musical talents as I listen to guitars and rich voices singing.  I envy the writers as well, such as a cousin who blogs the most beautiful sediments to her daughter--things that I wish I could say with the tenderness, humor and wit that she offers. And an aunt that I've mentioned before, the master storyteller that lovingly draws you in to share her thoughts and emotions, using words that weave a spell.  The picture she paints comes to life and surrounds you so real that you could reach out and touch it, yearning to be a part of it.  Tonight she wrote this.

She wrote of our vigil with Gram.  Our large, loving family has gathered.  We mull around the house, waiting.  Not with the depression, anxiety and tears that often come with this sort of stage in life but we hang around the house simply because we want to be together.  The siblings, Gram's children, drift in and out of her room, taking turns holding her hand, sharing memories and singing and playing songs.  The great grandkids, run around to play together, generally well mannered and respectful but excited to be together.  And the grandkids--my generation, is somewhere in between.  We delight in seeing each other and getting to hear the stories, but we subdue at the circumstances that brought us here.  We try to help, offering food, errands and companionship.  We often join in the songs and the music is our shared security blanket, an expression of love and emotion wrapping us closer together in this tender experience. 

I've only been part of the family for a few years.  I self-consciously admit a little jealousy, suspecting that her other grandchildren know her better than me and wanting to hear every story.  She's an incredible woman, one who has lived a life of adventures and seen many trials.  She's a woman of strength and dignity and so many more wonderful things.

In my mind, the space between two worlds grows closer.  Rather than separated, they begin to blend, gently fading into each other.  Just as loved ones on this side gather together in love and song, perhaps guiding her to the gate, other gather to greet and usher her in to the rest of the Father.  The music is the constant, heard and shared on both sides. 

I don't know how to end this.  But perhaps that is the answer.  There is no end, it's simply a bridge from this life to the next.  And when she's ready, she will cross that bridge and may our love and our music carry her there.