It's a weird day here in Chaos. The Weekids and I met my sister-in-law at the neighborhood pool. The kids were thrilled to visit with their cousins while Ben perfected the art of enjoying the pool without ever actually getting in it. That boy's terrified of deep water. So he flitted around the outside spraying us all with squirt guns and occasionally venturing onto the top step. Where the water is ankle deep.
At the same time, my husband's family has all gathered at a hospital twenty minutes from here. His mother and siblings, aunts and uncles and cousins, waiting for his Grandmother to leave this world for the next one. The machines keeping her breathing were unplugged this morning, but still she hangs on. And so it is an awkward kind of waiting, as the family holds their breath and makes certain she feels nothing but love in these last moments.
And it feels strange to me, as I sit listening to my children splash in the tub, rinsing sunscreen and grime from their bodies. Laughing and living as any other day, in the joyful unhindered way that only children can. They have no knowledge of the vigil going on just across town, for their great-grandmother. This woman, Hazel, whom they do not know, but, yet, is a part of them. Because one day long ago, Hazel gave life to a girl named Mary, who gave life to a boy named Shane who gave life to them. And today, while they are splashing, or napping or having watermelon for snack, she will go on, to meet the one who gives life to us all.
Goodbye Hazel. Thank you for the legacy you have left us with. The legacy that has become my family. We are praying for peace for you and comfort for all the ones you leave behind.