Recently I have been spending a large portion of my time with my grandparents. To be honest, I want to get in one more smile, one more tear and one more hug before they die. In this last year it is almost as if they can smell a life beyond this one. Our time together is mostly full of stories; long elaborate stories that are about nothing but mean everything to someone whose life is now counted in memories instead dreams. These stories become part of you, they make you see a world beyond my ignorant generation and for that reason, it matters. It matters to me to sit and listen to Gramp's top ten stories everytime we meet. The bullet wound in my grandpa's arm matters. It matters that Grampa taught me to fish. My Gram's way of cooking meatloaf matters to who I am in a way that I could only appreciate as I realize she might never cook it for us again. It isn't depressing, it is sad, it causes beautiful tears to fall in our family but it also causes us to listen more intently, with more compassion. The beautiful lesson of letting go has taught me that forgiveness reigns and grace can carry the bereaver forever. And for that reason it matters to embrace the deaths that will come but most importantly to embrace the stories that have become me.
1 comment:
you're right to cherish your time left with them.
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