I am sitting here in a real bevy of activity. My husband and son discuss Japan and the U.S. nuclear bombing as he (my son) reaffirms historical facts with his father as he understands them to exist via his recent personal research on World War II. My daughter is working on her 6 second animation, which she has taught herself to do--animate, that is. Her artistic ability eclipses mine by ten or twenty degrees (you just wait and see what my baby girl can do). And here I am, musing about all the things that are going on within my household tonight. Tonight is Friday night. While the Uptown core is rocking it wide on the boardwalk, we are sitting here in our apartment, watching dated ghost hunter shows on some online television programming site my husband was turned on to by his co-workers sometime earlier in June... I feel very grateful to be alive. To be here fully cognizant of the blessings that abound within my life. I have been engulfed in fear of death as I suppose is normal for 37 year old women to feel when their 41 year old sisters pass away. Grief hit me like a freight train the other night. It hit me like a brick wall. I woke up crying my eyes out. I snotted and snuffed all over my husband's t-shirt. Just to know... to know... that my sister is gone gone gone. Nothing remains but ashes and those ashes I shall never even see again because her husband has already moved on. And she is all but erased. The brevity of her life is a shock to me. After all, I remember her body. Her hair. Her voice. Everything is still very much alive in my memory and trying to convince myself that it is all gone is so very very painful. Who cares? I don't know.
Personally, I don't want my life to be brief like that, but I, like you all, have no control. But I want the world to know that it is she, my sister, who walked me to the door of my classroom on my very first day of school. I want the world to know that it is my sister that slept beside me when we were living in a trailer park and I snuck into her bed when I was barely able to walk and it is her I snuggled up to and felt safe for the very first time in my less-than-two-years on Earth. I want you to know that I worshipped the ground she walked upon and the comfort of knowing she is in a better place is nothing to me when I think about her through the lens of my 6 year old mind. I miss her to such a degree that the English language fails to allow me to describe it. If I could say it in tongues, I would. I cannot. But I will be okay nonetheless. I will.
I only have faith. And so, I woke up this morning thankful for the morning sun. Thankful for my husband lying next to me, sleeping soundly, and reaching for my hand from time to time. What else is there on earth that could compare to this? Money is nothing. Everything is nothing compared to this. If we cannot see the value in the little things, if we cannot thank God above that we are loved and can give love, we are mere ants plunging in and out of the dirt. If we cannot thank God above for the transformations that are made possible through the forward momentum of life, then we are no better than the dust that comes and goes according to the wind patterns. I want my life to be more than this. It is to this end that I think, feel, act. I want my thanks to ring out to the heavens because I know what loss is, I know what pain is, I know leagues and leagues of sorrow. Therefore, my joy is sweeter. Peace is priceless. Nothing is lost on me.