It’s the day after my grandfathers memorial service.  I had a dozen people at our house in order to commune and share food after the small family gathering and 21 gun salute at the cemetery.

A dozen or so people of blood relation, that I do not REALLY know.

And in a way, it kind of doesn’t matter, because when I look into their faces, I see my self.  And I see my history.  I see the individuation of myself spread out in a dozen different but similar faces.   This seems good enough.

Perhaps if I had time with them each, one on one, I would be asking questions and probing for answers on our connections… but I do not have the time for that… and to some degree maybe it isn’t even that important these days.

I use to wonder more about my family, but they aren’t the type to share, “just any story.”   They all have their favorites, their classics, their patchwork of the bigger picture.  Though I find it interesting, it’s the missing pieces I find far more interesting.  I guess that is when I really start to use my imagination.

The ceremony for my grandfather was short and sweet.  Just like him.  I think he approves.

Today is a new day, and there are new patterns to be laid.  New ways we have to go into each moment… because now, for my grandmother, she doesn’t have him to look forward too, despite the depressive nature of sitting in a nursing home watching a person struggle with Dementia.

Today we can be thankful that even though her legs hurt, at least she can still move them; and even though she can’t see well, at least she can still see… and even though she can’t chew so well, she can still chew enough to eat.  And we start to become thankful for what we DO have.  And we appreciate what we have lost, but with new eyes.

Life is never going to be “normal.”  It can only be a dance of balance.  Today is a new day to test the potentials of perception of “normal” and move forward into our own definition.