Wednesday, June 19, 2013

Dear Aunt Clare, Part III

Dear Clare;

"It's not worth going out while she's still alive. Your mom says its probably best if you wait until the funeral if you are going to come out." That sentence hit me like a brick.

"It's days, not weeks now," my dad said.  I guess I won't be getting that moment I want.

"She's more comfortable than she is lucid right now. You wouldn't get much time in with her anyway. There's mess of people under that house as is." That last sentence was a given.

I know you're surrounded by love. This does my heart good. Mom hasn't mentioned who is there, but I imagine it's just about everyone. All four of your kids probably go in and out, the older grand-kids probably take turns, my mom is pretty darn vigilant. I have to think Steve and Deb and probably Linda stop by and put time in as well. I can feel the love in the room hovering over you. I'm sending my love to you as well.

Mom says that when you are lucid, you're pretty tranquil, using words like glorious and at peace. Mom says that uncle Merle is powering through this like he does everything else, but she caught Uncle Merle at your bedside holding your hand in the early morning hours. If that doesn't sum up your marriage, I don't know what does.

Mom says you've talked some about Grandma and Ukiah, and heaven. I was too busy crying to really digest that conversation. Something about Grandma and Aunt Jan holding him. Mom made you promise you'd fight for some Ukiah time on the other side. I hope you do. I also hope you get to hold Randy again, that the two of you get to spend some quality time in a garden somewhere.

A revelation hit me yesterday that I was unprepared for. You, I, and Grandma are three generations that know what its like to lose a child, to feel that ache and have to carry it for the rest of our days. That's something neither you or I ever discussed. I always felt that this was something Grandma and I shared and somehow excluded you out of the group, and I'm just barely realizing it with your passing. I wish we'd talked about it in some way, however brief, but we never did. And now, that connection will pass when you do. I'm trying to unearth a profound nugget in this revelation, but I can't seem to dig it out of the ground.

I'm not sure what else to say, so I guess I'll just say what we both know.

I love you and I'll miss you always;


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