How To Hold A Grace Sandwich

It's there in a majestic sunset hugging the western horizon, a slow inhale, a thoughtful pause, you remember. It's in a photograph that takes you hostage, throat constricting tight, a moment in time resurrected. It's in a song playing on your iPod, it comes and your heart says leave me be, I still have work to do.

Three weeks ago we said goodbye to my father-in-law, this old man, he passed peacefully at the age of ninety-four. During his latter years his mind grew dim, thoughts and names failed, limbs weakened and life began its slow fade. My own father suffered from Alzheimer's, I understood this loss, this dementia which robs the mind like a jewel thief, grieves loved ones as they try to navigate this new normal. It's a process, this letting go, saying good-bye without the words. Loving big, accepting what is, regardless. 

Just two days after my father-in-law passed, our family began the trek to his grandson's wedding in Montana. Hearts heavy as our loaded luggage, we journeyed the distance to celebrate this new beginning, two lives entwining, us eager to witness the celebration and gather as family. And as I flew part way to join the rest of our group, those moments in the plane, they play in my mind like a verse from a favorite Psalm, me having thought all that grief had already washed away. Him tugging heart strings, a song on my iPod, and the tears, they welled at first causing me to glance around, can anyone see my sadness?  Have angels hijacked this plane? My make-up is smudging! I swiped my eyes, turned up the volume, surrendered to the lyrics, the wafting memories. 

Grief shows itself in its own fashion, unscheduled, unrehearsed, our vulnerable selves at its glorious mercy.

And when our daughter presented all us family women, bride and granddaughter included, with necklaces crafted from my mother-in-laws old jewelry; I cradled it  in my palm, counted this a grace sandwich, a precious gift in the middle of our sad.

Maybe eyes that see from that place above and within, perhaps they behold a perfect understanding, a knowing that speaking goodbye is never the end. Sandwiched in between all that living and loss is that deep peace inside the pumping heart, I was loved, I loved, I am loved, I will always do my best to love. 

My husband, he waved happy from great heights in Montana, surrounded by beauty, family, mourning suspended in the moment. I held the camera still, wondering at all that amazing grace, hungry for another sandwich. 

And clicked.