the cycle of our lifetimes is enormously intriguing to me.  i find it both incredibly sad but immensely beautiful.

my grandfather is dying.

i can't believe i actually wrote that.  saying it out loud and writing it makes it even more real.  more tangible, more like a cold slap in the face.

death.

how does one deal with the loss or debilitation of a loved one?  i, for one, have never been good at dealing with death.  especially a death of someone who is so near and dear to me and whose heart is intertwined with mine.  i've been lucky enough to spend a majority of my life at both of my grandparent's homes, hearing their stories about their lives, and learning about life and love and happiness from their viewpoints.  i know many people don't have that luxury and the people they love are taken from them far sooner than those in my life.

but how do i look at this from a positive viewpoint?  i watch those around me weep over the agony of death.  i feel that same agony in the pit of my stomach every morning before my feet hit the floor.  the veil of death is ugly--and painful.  my vantage point on life gets bleak when i think about the end of someone's life.

yesterday, as i was going to open my favorite book (you guessed it!)  "eat, pray, love" a card dropped to the floor from valentine's day years ago.  i had long-since forgotten about it, stashing it away to be found on a day just like yesterday.  this grief that overtook my heart turned to joy as i opened the card to find the angular and musical writing of my grandpa mathsen.  his message was clear..."we are so proud of you and the person you have become.  you are blessed to be a blessing to every one you meet.  go for it girl!"

i closed my eyes and held that flimsy card next to my heart.  i have sort of a lake wobegon mentality when it comes to family.  spring grove, though i've never actually been a resident, is where i consider my hometown. i identify with the thick norwegian blood that runs through my veins, the stubborn attitude i inherited from my mother's mother and father's father.  the compassion and empathy i feel for children from my father's mother and mother's father.  these people--the foundation of the family that i have come to so love and cherish, are failing.  their health is deteriorating, they are losing their memories, and the vibrance of life that they once had.

that card, however, signified to me that i will always have the sturdy foundation of these folk to carry me and lift up my heart when i'm feeling like death is winning.  holding it close to my heart and closing my eyes, i remembered watching my grandpa at his strongest bailing hay and smelling like cow shit and motor oil after coming in for supper and pouring a half of glass of sugar with some iced tea in it.  i thought about my grandma's hands as she kneaded dough to make endless pans of cinnamon rolls for her grand babies who adored them so much.  i thought about the stoic stare of my grandma marge as she took charge and changed the nursing field that she so loved.  i remembered my grandpa bob's warm embrace after hearing about a struggle or a kind card he sent to remind me of his ceaseless prayers.

all of these memories and people are a part of me.  these four people, the foundations of my family, are carried in my heart.  while my heart breaks and i selfishly wish they could remain on this earth, i send endless prayers of thanks up for providing me with a strong foundation as a woman who wants to start her own life.

i thought for a long time that i was a weak woman.  i had a mentality that i couldn't do it alone.  what i am learning now, is that because of the experiences i've come across and the foundation of family, faith, and friendship that i have--i am strong.  while my heart breaks and those silent tears fall when i think about death and how real it is becoming to me, i look at my hands and think about how i'm connected to the kneading and nursing of my grandmothers, the music directing and praying of my grandfathers, and the love of my parents.

when my grandfather was still lucid enough to remember who i was, he said to me "i've done everything in my life that i've wanted to.  i married the love of my life and raised 5 great children.  i got to direct music for almost 60 years and buy a farm that i loved working and living on."  this is such a comfort to me!

the old farmhouse that they lived in for isn't anything spectacular.  it's old, it creaks, and the stairs are steep.  the basement smells of mildew, and there's only one bathroom.  (a 7 person family and 1 bathroom...)  the images of all of my grandparents all live in that house.  that, my friends, as corny as it sounds, is my house of dreams.  that is where all of my dreams lie.  the foundation of that very house--signifies the foundation of my life.  cozying up by the fire, taking it all in, and having a thankful heart.

death will not win.  the memories and steadfast faith--along with the comfort of an afterlife where we're all together again, is what i will hold on to.  i will forever remember my grandpa, who is dying, as he was.  a diligent choir director, a hardworking farmer, a provider, a loving father, and the best example of a teacher that i will ever have.

i am blessed.