Waiting

My great uncle is dying. Dementia began invading his mind a few years ago. Last week he had a stroke, and because of his DNR and his now inability to feed himself, he is in his final days. He hasn't had any food since Saturday, so it's just a matter of time. I keep hearing things about his heart. They say it's strong. It's keeping him alive.

Magnolia was lying across my lap tonight as I was rocking her to sleep. I put my hand on her chest to feel her little heart beating. It was there so strong and consistent, doing just what it's supposed to do. Doing what Uncle Bud's has done so well for over 86 years now. The heart that started beating before he took his first breath, when he occupied the womb of his mother. The heart made by his mother and father. Beating and beating and beating away. It's such a strange feeling that everyone is waiting on it to stop doing the only thing it knows how to do. But its time will come, his time will come. And the hope I carry with me is that his mind and spirit and body will all be restored to a perfect form.

I've been working on a piece of writing for years, all centered around something Uncle Bud asked Grammy in a letter years ago, "When did we become the oldest generation?" All of my great aunts and uncles are my "gentle giants." I love them deeply and dearly. And they are all falling. I know I've been lucky. They've all lived long full lives, and no one can dwell on earth forever, but the world feels a little sadder without their presence. I miss them breathing the same air as me. I am without words to describe my gratitude for memories, and I hope that nothing will take them away from me.

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