Holding On

Today I stood under an apple tree, blinded by the sunshine at my great-Aunt Jean's committal service.  Last Friday, while driving to visit her son, Mark, for his daughter's birthday, Jean's car swerved off the highway and into a tree, killing her instantly.  She was 58.  Two hours later, I drove past the line of Fire Trucks and emergency vehicles on the side of the road, noticing the car in the brush, but, of course, making no connection with the vehicle itself.  It wasn't until hours later that I realized that accident...was her accident.  She leaves behind a husband, 4 adult children, 5 grandbabies, one on the way, and a lifetime full of people whose lives she touched.  As a mother, a wife, an Aunt, a sister, a hair stylist, a friend...her influence was profound.  She lived her life well, and the completely packed church spoke to that fact.  The words spoken about her life, the message shared by her pastor, the readings and messages and songs from her children all related the hope that she had for her future and that she had given to so many others throughout her life.  An amazing woman.

I stood next to another amazing woman at the committal, though.  I stood next to my mother.  And as I listened to Katie, Aunt Jean's youngest, break down, literally sobbing for her Mommy as the pastor prayed, I wrapped my arms around my own Mommy...and wept.  How often have I stood next to her and giggled about something the kids were doing or baked a pie or cleaned up from a meal with not even the most remote thought of how priceless she is?  And, as Katie and Becky and Heather and Mark grieved...it struck me that I could just as easily be sitting where they were.  That without a moment's notice, she could be gone.  And there would be nothing I could do to change the way I've spent the time I've had with her...no opportunity to go back and spend more time, love more...love better.  So I stood there and I didn't let go.  This woman who has had the absolute most human influence in my life...I can't imagine letting her go.

Holding on.  I plan to do more of it.  Of the Mother I cherish, and of the children I can't imagine not watching grow up.