On the Eve of my 55th

My brother-in-law is now in a coma as he nears the end of this life and is about to move to the next. He was given about 3-5 weeks to live in late March and we are all having to face the truth that the end is near. It's been such a sad time for all of us who love him and we find that there simply aren't words to share what he has meant to us for the past 16 years and what we hope will be his joyous entry into heaven.

Ironically, yesterday was Jon's 77th birthday and tomorrow is my 55th. His near passing has made me feel more than usually reflective about my own day tomorrow. Generally I try to ignore birthdays as much as I can. I say that I am not sensitive about my age, and in terms of being coy or reluctant to admit how old I am that is true. However, tomorrow will be a day with a difference. I suspect it will be the day of Jon's heavenly homecoming, and that will overshadow everything else that happens.

There are many things about Jon that I will miss. I will miss his sense of fun. He has a great love for doing little magic tricks, especially if youngsters are anywhere nearby. It never ceases to amaze me how he can do slights of hand with the littlest of props and have kids oohing and ahhing.  I will miss how fiercely loyal he is to family and friends and especially to my sister-in-law, Kathleen. I will miss knowing that he is there to spoil my grandkids in St. Joe when I can't be there. He took to them as if they were his very own and I will be forever grateful to him for that. I also will miss his beautiful art... Jon is a woodcarver, and he makes the most intricate and amazing things out of little chunks of wood. I have a couple of walking sticks he made me and oodles of beautiful wooden kitchen utensils that will make me remember him every time I hold them in my hands.

The thing that hurts and confuses me is that even though we've had "time" to prepare for Jon's leave-taking, we don't feel prepared. We jump when the phone rings, we cling to some hope for a reprieve, and we hate to see him suffer even the slightest lack of personal dignity as these last days play out. It's been confusing and heart-wrenching and yet seems as if this is the way things are meant to be. It's somewhat exhausting to contemplate.

So Godspeed and God Bless you, Jon. You have been a gift to all of us and we hope in some small way we've been as much for you. Our love goes with you, and our hopes of a joyous reunion, in a future mansion where we will all be free of this world and its ills, are sure.