The grand-dog is spending the weekend, and we're passing a lazy afternoon together on the porch. Lefty wants to play fetch right now, but it's hot out and I do not want him getting over-heated. I have promised Lefty we'll play fetch when the sun slips behind the trees.
I washed laundry this morning, changed Mom's sheets, and wrote a few letters.
Then I attended the visitation for a sweet and gentle giant who slipped quietly into eternity last week.
Came home and ate lunch, washed more laundry, talked with my son about his travel plans and about boating on Reelfoot, completed a French lesson. Now, I'm sitting on the porch, writing and enjoying a warm afternoon breeze with the grand-dog.
This is a strange life...standing daily close to the veil, tucking death between meetings and household chores and what's-for-dinner? Strange and sad and beautiful and sweet.
In my last post, I'm Not Who I Used To Be, I stated that I know fewer things absolutely now than I once did...but those few things, I know with greater certainty than ever before. One thing I have become increasingly confident of, especially during my short time working in hospice: This life is not all there is. The death of the physical body is not The End. We truly do have eternity written in our hearts.
Every time one of My People passes, I weep. But for those with whom I share faith in Jesus, I do not grieve as one who has no hope. I WILL see these dear brothers and sisters again, and they will be whole and well, full of life and joy.
Today, my heart is sore. A small piece of it left me, passed through the veil, is waiting for me now on the other side...waiting, I am confident, with bright eyes, a broad smile, and a tapping foot, eager to welcome me when I, too, am called home.
Until then, tucked between today's goodbye and some future Welcome Home!, I will fold the laundry, cook dinner, play fetch with the grand-dog...
And I will remember.
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