When Life Is Full

Pouring fragrant jasmine green tea into Royal Dover china tea cup, I readied to tell her everything. How we celebrated husband's sixtieth birthday at the beach, all six of us, grown-ups with gray hair and nagging aches in various joints. You were there too. Leisurely walks under canopy of aquamarine sky, seagulls winging it, frothy waves lapping shore, you were there. Grand houses we admired, jokingly longing to buy, purchasing lottery tickets, for the joy of it all. Delicious birthday cake with coconut frosting made special for his sixtieth, pure bliss for palate. Our son, he surprised us for the special day, all grown now, he walked into twins' bedroom, and I turned to see this man-child who flew from Virginia to celebrate his Dad. Strong arms wrapped around my quivering shoulders, I swiped tears, this wet joy that streams from eyes. You were there too. A video daughter shot, capturing my surprise,  I played it and saw you too, my knees all wobbly and the hand that brushed at tears, you once held. You knit me together in my mother's womb. And I hear it then, this crazy word that takes the impossible, all the strands of messiness, pain and regret, sickness and doubt, it knits it all together in unimaginable fashion. We breathed it in, this rich Grace, for what else could hold your six children together? What else could fly son here on standby ticket? It's there in the shadows of this life, there in the sound of a newborn cry, there in six middle-aged children standing tall, together. In the words of George MacDonald: "There can be no unity, no delight of love, no harmony, no good being, where there is but one. Two at least are needed for oneness." I wanted to share it all with you, all this living, instead I drank the steamy tea alone, punching my thoughts out on keyboard. Twenty-three years have passed, bruised heart colored pale blue, ping of missing you lingers, just as your last breath. Can it be the image in the video is truly me and not you? And the breaths we take each day, your offspring, your grandchildren, are they an extension of your own, your lasting legacy?  In journal I penned, to count and claim, # 489 siblings who care #490 friends who work for airlines #491 mother's who smile wide when life is full.

You don't choose your family. They are God's gifts to you, as you are to them.

Desmond Tutu

When The Story Isn't Over

We gathered together, our guests and family, communal gazes pointed towards big wide screen made up of queen-sized sheet. Right there, standing in brother's pristine garage, on that make-shift screen our lives unfolded like a favorite story book. Only the story hasn't ended. Tears welled, then slid down our cheeks, my husband and mine, our hands clasped tight, eyes glued to picture show. Each scene depicting a chapter, each photograph a snapshot, a reminder of what we were, our lives progressing chapter by chapter. Twin breaths hitched together, his and mine, as each picture captured moments that flew by as fast as those hummingbirds I wait for. Where did all the time go? Look at your hippie hair! I wore those baggy pants? Look at our babies! Since the anniversary party, we  re-play our video, cry a bit more, and those reflective thoughts, they stare back at us like rear-view mirror. This is proof of who we were and are we doing our best and how many chapters until the book is finished? In the beloved novel, Tuesdays with Morrie, Morrie encourages the author to; "Make peace with living." Continuing on, he says, "Make peace. You need to make peace with yourself and everyone around you." A few days ago, I watched video once again, eyes misting as faces of cherished loved ones played across computer screen and along with age spots on hands, I understood what I did not know when I slipped white lace gown over my not-quite-nineteen-year-old-blond-head. Everything will work for good. And it's then I see Jesus walking beside me up that aisle, smiling tenderly, knowing the future and how it will all end.

 The video, it commands flat screen, the images of dearly loved ones, music streaming from speaker, songs hand-picked by daughter for each chapter, and there it is, that truth that floods cloudy eye-sight. Everything will work for good. Truth trumps darkest fear. Each and every scene captures plethora of gifts, myriad of moments, of blessings, of living and loving others. The song, it plays and lyrics skip across heart, reminding me of teen-aged girl who knew no peace, and it slips then, this joyful tear. He knew the future, the pitfalls, the joys and the crushing sorrows. Only the story isn't over. Cranking the music a bit louder, I continue to play fortieth wedding anniversary video over and over, peacefully humming to tune pasted below. I would loved to have met Morrie, and I hold out my hand for my invisible friend, I breathe in the promises. All is still. All is peace.

 

Time is so precious that is is dealt out to us only in the smallest possible fractions- a tiny moment at a time~ Irish Proverb

 

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OTg1n95--KE&feature=player_detailpage