As I type this my grandfather lies in a hospital bed in Northern Indiana holding on to life by only the most thin thread. His heart keeps beating, his blood keeps flowing, his eyes shift and seem to rest on something beyond us.
I am a hospice chaplain. But I am a granddaughter first. And while death is no longer unfamiliar, I am still startled by its piercing impartiality when it comes to those we love.
The solace I find today is that if there is another world, if our souls do carry on, then his weary spirit is preparing for one phenomenal reunion with my Grandmother, whose death he never got over. I hope she's hovering in the other side of this thin thread, beckoning him with those blue eyes. And I hope the bluegill are plentiful there, 'cause undoubtedly Herman will be carrying a rod and reel as he crosses over to meet another fisherman.
No comments:
Post a Comment