As I’ve mentioned in recent posts, last Monday we were at my sister Ruth’s place in Wisconsin. While a few of our number stayed outside on the shooting range, the rest of us went back inside the house to cool off a bit.
Ruth’s 17-year old son, Isaac, a flautist, pianist, violinist and composer, greatly enhanced our gathering by setting up shop in his parent’s room just off the living room and serenading us.
For awhile I just sat quietly and listened, tucked into the couch with Sarah, which was a blissfully sweet experience in itself.
But then I thought I would love to record some of Isaac’s playing so I got up, leaving Sarah to snuggle with the family’s dog who had joined her. I perched on the arm of the couch and turned on my camera to record a little bit of the music, a little bit of the sunshine, a little bit of the love that filled the room.
(click here for a 1-minute video)
Violin in the Country
Midway through one of Isaac’s songs, I was unexpectedly overcome with tears. And it wan’t for any other reason except that I knew that I was experiencing one of those rare times in life when a combination of beautiful things all join together to create one shining, perfect moment.
I was in peaceful, gorgeous surroundings. I was sitting just a few feet away from my daughter, my husband, and my mom. Across the room, I could see my two sisters and my daughter-in-law, laughing and chatting. The sound of exquisite violin music filled the air. And the beauty of it all just made me cry.
Good, sweet, happy tears.
As it turns out, my tears weren’t done for the day. Later that afternoon, we left for yet another destination that was found at the end of a few peaceful Wisconsin roads . . .
. . . a place I hadn’t visited since my dad was buried there almost three years ago.
It was a special joy to be joined by the newest family member who was seeing Grandpa Campbell’s grave for the first time.
We all made our way through the green of the grass and the blue of the sky . . .
. . . and gathered together at a certain grave that bore a certain name.
I stood with my family as we gazed at the spot that held the bones of a person we all loved so much and suddenly I was in tears all over again. The earlier tears were wrung from beauty; the later tears were wrung from loss.
Although I mainly wept over the death of my dad, I also cried because I was looking at a grave that bore my mom’s name, too. And to stand next to her in that idyllic place and think ahead to the day when we would all gather together once again to send her away Home—well, tears were about the only response I could manage.
The family cried with me . . .
. . . as Steve hugged me and led us all in a tender prayer of comfort and hope.
And then we left the peace of that place and headed back to our cars, our lives, our futures. We took with us the sure knowledge that as we went our separate ways, we were irreversibly knit together by music, tears, prayers, faith, and a family heritage of love.
Beautiful!
Thanks, Laurie. And I loved the pictures on your site!
Poignant and bittersweet. I think we don’t completely connect to the love that God has for us until we have children of our own (NOT to say that those who don’t have children can’t understand that relationship… but it becomes very personal when you look at your own child and then think about the cross…). And I don’t think that we completely connect with Heaven and how very much it matters until someone we love very much goes there ahead of us. At that point, it becomes so real… that need to be with them again, and that hope that it’s possible. And as more and more of those we love set sail for that beautiful shore, it becomes easier to imagine that journey and even to anticipate it. There is great beauty in the expression on the face of an elderly loved one who knows Jesus is reaching out… and great comfort for those of us who see it. Our loss is momentary in the light of eternity. And you know that I want to live on the same street as you when we get there someday… xoxox…
Pam, thank you for sharing such beautiful thoughts. And living on the same street would be great! I also hope, very much, that there will be cameras in heaven. Can you imagine the shots we would get?
Becky: I remember the 1st time I visited my mom’s grave in 2006. I was alone, and placed some flowers there. I waited for the rush of connection and emotion. I was almost embarrassed because the rush didn’t come. (I had been very close w/ my mom). Suddenly, I had a realization that I wasn’t connecting in this spot, because SHE ISN’T HERE! I knew where she was, and I wasn’t gonna find her spirit here!
I connect with my mom a lot, and have rushes of emotion and memory. But not at her grave. (THis was my own experience. Your family’s tears are completely appropriate, and maybe even healing!) We all have very personal connections, and grief. I remember well your writing of your dad’s passing. Thank you for sharing.
Jojy,
I think it’s important that we all remember what you just wrote so beautifully; everyone’s response to grief is different and no one’s response is wrong or right. Grief is such an individual, personal thing that it can’t be put in anyone’s box. Your feelings and emotions about your mom are so touching; thank you for sharing them here.
Loved your post today. I used to ask my mom if it didn’t make her feel weird to see her name on the headstone next to dad’s and she would say, No. The last year of her life she would just ask the Lord to please take her home to see her dear Albert and her dear Lord and Savior. Its coming up on 25 years my dad passed away and 4 for mom. I sat here and cried through your post… I don’t think we ever stop “missing” our parents. Wendy
Wendy,
You’re absolutely right; when parents are gone, the hole is unfillable. So glad the post was so meaningful for you.
I needed a moment of quiet and thoughtful prayer in the midst of the stress of my job and pending court filings. I knew exactly where to come. Thank you, Becky. I needed the few tears also that I shed for my mom as I read your words.
Mary,
Glad to know that Smithellaneous can provide a rejuvenating oasis for you in a hectic, stressful day. Thanks for letting me know.
Beautifully conveyed…brought me tears and yet joy for you
Guerrina,
Tears and joy are a good description of that day.
Thanks, Beck, for capturing precous moments so sweetly. Through your words and pictures you provide a way for us to keep on enjoying them. What a wonderful gift! Love you.
Deb
Debbie,
It was a privilege to get to experience those moments with YOU!
Beautiful post, Becky.
Buff,
Nice to see your name pop back up here at Smithellaneous! 🙂 Thanks for your encouragement.
I read every day! 🙂
Hooray!
Becky, what a precious post and I can certainly identify with the tears. Sometimes happiness just overflows, when I am sitting with my precious children or holding a beloved granchild on my lap, thanking God for the blessings he has given. I can also identify with the loss of a parent. My Daddy passed away 15 years ago yesterday and I was weepy all day, and you are right, seeing my mother’s name on his tombstone will reduce me to tears again. She is in a nursing home suffering from dementia and sometimes doesn’t know me until I have been there for a while. God bless you and your precious family and thanks for sharing both your happiness and sadness with me.
Gail,
It’s really tough when our loved ones don’t recognize us; I remember the first time that happened with my beloved grandma. It felt like the whole earth titled for just a moment.
Hugs and grace to you as you walk this road.