Earlier this morning, I was lost in thought about my son-in-law, Michael, who passed-away six years ago.
Like living film clips, similar to the windows in my last post, I remembered Michael’s conversations with me in the hospital. He apologized for his life coming to an end. He spoke of innocent mistakes he had made. He spoke with pride of his wife, her accomplishments and strength. And his two sons, his concern for them and his aspirations for them. He thanked me for nurturing their musicality.
From out of no where, he shouted, “HEY!” He was right next to me, but sounding a bit like he shouted through a tunnel. I smiled, “I hear you honey. I know you’re here and I thank you. Mom loves you.”
Then I remembered him telling me more than once, “Sometimes you have to get a little crazy to get their attention.”
It is comforting to know that Michael is not dead, but lives. On the other side of the veil, yes. But he lives. He visits, he watches over us, and he loves us still and eternally, as we do him.
I am grateful that our dear Michael got my attention today, on Memorial Day.