Bittersweet emotions

Losing both of my parents at a tender age gave me a different perspective on extended family.

I am the baby of two babies. My closest sibling is more than five years older, my closest cousin more than seven. All the others range up to 25 years older. By the time I came along, most of the extended family events had ceased taking place. For that matter, once I was school age it was rare for my immediate family to gather very often. Family dynamics change. In some ways this was to my advantage. I might have missed out on lots of extended family fun as a kid (some of my cousins or siblings might argue how much of that was really fun), but I had the opportunity to get to know my aunts and uncles in a different way.

Of six siblings, only my father’s middle sister remains. We celebrated her 97th birthday this past week. She’s rather feeble and has trouble moving around, but her mind is still good enough to have enjoyable conversations. I visited my mother’s only sibling, a sister, yesterday. Always healthy in both mind and body, she was struck with cancer a year and a half ago and has struggled with that ever since.

For awhile I was too absorbed in my own life to visit them regularly. Thankfully, I've gotten beyond that. I've realized it's a connection I don’t want to be broken. When I visit we sometimes talk about the present, but mostly we laugh and tell stories about the past. We remember those who are gone. Each time I hug them goodbye a little part of me wants to cling and hold fast.

They are the last link to my mother and father.

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In honor of National Poetry Month, I want to share this poem my grandmother wrote shortly after the death of her two year old son. It’s a repeat for those who use to read my 360 blog, but certainly worth posting again here.

Separation


I went up to your room to get some little thing--
And there it overtook me --all the grief.
I'd kept my courage up, been brave,
I'd tried so hard to keep submerged
And even smiling;
Now, in the midst of all these dear,
Reminding things,
That courage drained away -
It was pretense - this was reality.
Nothing in me was beautiful and brave.

I know not when it was He slipped into the room
And took my hand in His.
Perhaps He'd been there all the time,
And I had been too occupied with striving to be brave
To sense His nearness.

He said, "Let not your heart be troubled.
I am always here".

Slowly His peace filled all my anguished soul.
His was the courage,
His was the joy.
And they were mine for just the taking.
He filled my every need.
And there, O sweet surprise! O gift of love Divine!
He let me see His other hand!
And there you were, your hand held fast in His.
You, I, and He held close together by those pierced hands,
Enfolded, wrapped within that wondrous Love.

He smiled, "Had you fogotten
Nothing can pluck my own from out my grasp"?

Oh, may I ever keep you close
By keeping close to Him.