A Time of Sorrow

Yesterday morning I was on the phone with my dad, so excited for the day. My anticipation of my Uncle Ritchie Elison's scheduled visit for dinner, and Emily's family joining us for a mini- family reunion, was so great that I skipped my last class to go grocery shopping. It was the only reason I was even on the phone.

Another call beeped through dad's line and he quickly hung up with me. 40 minutes later I learned that Dad had received what will probably, and hopefully, be the worst news of our lives. This shared by my family, my aunts, my uncles, and my cousins.

Our grandmother, 86 years old, died yesterday and our grandfather, 90 years old is in the hospital after a tragic and violent turn in time. For 67 1/2 years they had been devoted partners, loving parents, and honored grandparents.

Even though their age may suggest it was just their time to go. This is not that story. In fact I'm only blogging about it because I need a release and an opportunity to reach out to my family who I am so far away from.

Dear family, our hearts are knitted together. Each of us have our own spiritual faith as our foundation. But we are united in our love for one another.

I'm posting the poem Grandpa read at my wedding 7 years ago. It is how I will choose to remember him always.

Home
by Edgar Guest

It takes a heap o' livin' in a house t' make it home,
A heap o' sun an' shadder, an' ye sometimes have t' roam
Afore ye really 'preciate the things ye lef' behind,
An' hunger fer 'em somehow, with 'em allus on yer mind.
It don't make any differunce how rich ye get t' be,
How much yer chairs an' tables cost, how great yer luxury;
I ain't home t' ye, though it be the palace of a king,
Until somehow yer soul is sort o' wrapped round everything.

Home ain't a place that gold can buy or get up in a minute;
Afore it's home there's got t' be a heap o' livin' in it;
Within the walls there's got t' be some babies born, and then
Right there ye've got t' bring 'em up t' women good, an' men;
And gradjerly, as time goes on, ye find ye wouldn't part
With anything they ever used -- they've grown into yer heart:
The old high chairs, the playthings, too, the little shoes they wore
Ye hoard; an' if ye could ye'd keep the thumb marks on the door.

Ye've got t' weep t' make it home, ye've got t' sit an' sigh
An' watch beside a loved one's bed, an' know that Death is nigh;
An' in the stillness o' the night t' see Death's angel come,
An' close the eyes o' her that smiled,
an' leave her sweet voice dumb.
Fer these are scenes that grip the heart,
an' when yer tears are dried,
Ye find the home is dearer than it was, an' sanctified;
An' tuggin' at ye always are the pleasant memories
O' her that was an' is no more -- ye can't escape from these.

Ye've got t' sing an' dance fer years, ye've got t' romp an' play,
An' learn t' love the things ye have by usin' 'em each day;
Even the roses 'round the porch must blossom year by year
Afore they 'come a part o' ye, suggestin' someone dear
Who used t' love 'em long ago, an' trained 'em jes' t' run
The way they do, so's they would get the early mornin' sun;
Ye've got t' love each brick an' stone from cellar up t' dome:
It takes a heap o' livin' in a house t' make it home.

From the book "A Heap o' Livin'" ©1916

Friends, I'm going to be unavailable for the time being, I'll call when I'm ready.