Annie’s gone, but we’ll see her again

She was 48 with a husband and children and a large family of parents, brothers and sister, and many nieces and nephews. Her cancer was very advanced when they found it, but she battled far longer than anyone expected.  I’m sad about Annie, I haven't seen a firm confirmation, but I think she died a few hours after her brother arrived yesterday and the whole family gathered in her hospice room. I'm crying, yes, but the sadness is more for us. Our little family. Perhaps that's selfish, but I know her mother would understand.  We’ve wept together. They've had a year more than they thought was possible, and I pray we have that, too. Ann's kids are teens, and sometimes teens need their moms more than babies do who eat sleep and poop as some say. It's such a confusing time in life.

I watched my dad after his mother's funeral (he was 70) and knew then there was never a good time to be an orphan. Not 7 and not 70.  But he was 83 when his sister (my aunt Marion) died and he sobbed and sobbed in the back of the room at the funeral home away from everyone. Big tough Marine. All my high school dates were afraid of him.  He said  because she was the oldest girl, she was the "little mother" of all the other 8. It still makes me cry to think of it; she was always there to welcome me home.

We know we're all in God's care, we're baptized, we've made a personal commitment, but the other side is still scary because we don't know what to expect. Like the baby in the womb--we suspect there's something else, we can hear music, talking, feel movement, we wiggle our toes and touch our nose--but it seems so unrealistic to think there's more than we know floating around with everything taken care of.

There is.