Just this morning, my husband lost his grandmother. In the past weeks, I almost lost my father and have watched my grandmother seem to wither away in a hospital bed. Life has never seemed so precarious. On days like today, I wish I had a regular 9 to 5 job to fill life with trivialities that use up the day. Today, I just had time to think. We’re always told not to weep for those that had full and happy lives, yet we do. Somewhere in the fray of life, time passes and older people seem to fade as the next generation alights. We mask their relevance with our own busyness. From the moment we come into this world, our older counterparts relinquish their self-importance for their offspring’s dreams. Every generation does it. It’s when an elder loved one dies, we realize the importance of making them proud. Does one fulfill the promise our parents envisioned as they gazed upon their newborn infant for the first time? Once they're gone, were the next batter up and it’s time to either make a home run or strike out. We’re one-step closer to knowing how the game finishes and our own mortality comes into question. In losing a grandparent, we’re instantly brought back to our early childhood. We remember what we loved doing most with them, whether it was coin collecting together, or in my case, playing a good game of poker as an eight year old. Grandparents by design have an easier relationship with their grandkids. Rather than look for the perfect embodiment of themselves in their offspring, at this stage they’re happy enough seeing some of their best traits that may have skipped a generation. While the big picture of loss feels considerable, it’s the tiny details that perhaps leave the heaviest heart. The smallest details in life strikes a chord... a ten second memory shared but not forgotten, some indelible words or just a snapshot in our mind. It’s the connection that matters, an everyday ordinary miracle that stays with you even when they’re gone.
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