Last One (Standing)
I attended my Uncle Nilus’ funeral on Wednesday in northeast Iowa. He was married to my dad’s sister Jenny. Jenny died in 2017. They had shared 64 years of marriage. Nilus was 92 years old. My mom is the same age. Long and full lives with a significant legacy.
My dad’s siblings have all passed away. The last in 2021. With Nilus passing away, my mom is the last one of that generation on Dad’s side of the family. Last one (standing). Though she is not standing anymore either.
The last time I visited with Nilus was at my mom’s birthday celebration in February. Mom in her wheelchair, Uncle Nilus in his. Mom present in the ways she could be. Nilus conversing with us.
I visited Mom on Wednesday morning before the funeral. She was laying in bed resting, and eventually fell asleep. She didn’t say a word, though I saw acknowledgement in her eyes. I read her a few poems. I got my journal out and wrote a few lines, thinking about how Mom and I have both been long-time journalers. I often hold her hands or rub her arm while I sit next to her.
On Wednesday, her arms were under her blanket, so I rubbed her shoulder gently. This connection to my mom is deeply meaningful to me, and a more recent development. There are conversations we will never have, pain and suffering that will go to the grave with her. In our connection though is life, and wisdom, grace, patience, acceptance, and shared joy.
I am here because of my parents. My siblings and I have our own growing families. I have attended several funerals for elderly aunts and uncles in recent years. Children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren resemble the previous generation in look and stature. Family lives on.
Each one of these funerals is a time of reflection and another step of acceptance of Mom’s decline and impending passing. It could be weeks, months, or years. It could be tomorrow. The same is true for each of us.
Life is precious. Life is fragile. We will all see our last sunrise one day. Loss and grief are part of life. So are joy and peace. They can all co-exist in a day well-lived. When I pause in gratefulness, the pain is softened and the love is deepened.
