Loving from the inner

We lost my father in-law after a sudden illness not quite a week ago. Since then, our days and nights have been filled with that hazy feeling of not being quite grounded as we make arrangements and try to come to terms with our shock and grief.

I don’t think it’a an accident, though, that planning what needs to be planned when a life ends brings families together for a few days with nothing to focus on but each other. I read once that the Greek root of the word crisis is “to sift.” In crisis, we shake the pan and all the crap falls through the little holes in the bottom and the important stuff remains. Stuff like brushing the little nieces’ hair and gabbing about what they're learning in school, and telling the older nieces how fabulous and beautiful and amazing I think they are until they tire of hearing it. It’s hugging my brothers and sisters in-law when I want to or feel like I should, rather than waiting until the end of a visit. It’s taking time to really talk to my husband’s aunts and hearing their stories and experiences that they share like laughing minstrels to help me better understand the clan he comes from and the root of what he considers to be important. It’s holding my mother in-law’s hand and not saying anything, but just sitting with her and sharing her grief. The laundry, the cooking, the chores, the work, the tasks – they all fall through the pan and scatter on the ground while we focus on what’s important.

And it’s during this time of focus that light, laughter and joy tend to seep in – at times, unexpectedly. We sat in the dining room with the cousins, going through boxes of pictures, squealing at awkward school photos, squinting to identify which baby Grandpa was holding and finding resemblances in faded photos of relatives long gone. It was then that we unearthed a Thanksgiving card my husband, Pat, had made in fourth grade as a school project.

Here’s what you need to know about Pat. He’s brilliant and sensitive and gifted and loving, but he was no Shakespeare in fourth grade. The poem he wrote and lettered carefully in black crayon had us howling with laughter as we took turns doing our own interpretive reading. The line, “Thank you for the dinner – I love you from the inner,” had the little ones giggling and the rest of us doubled over. Even my mother in-law chuckled a bit. “I love you from the inner!” We kept saying it to each other, over and over, and laughed until we cried.

Two days later at my father in-law’s funeral, which was the celebration of life that he would have absolutely wanted, Pat and our niece, Lauren, shared recollections of Dad and Grandpa. His love of farming and music. His pride in being a husband and a father. His love of talking politics and his Irish-fueled tendency to argue and debate. His penchant for Doritos and his willingness to drop everything to give a grandkids a tractor ride. Lauren spoke beautifully and meaningfully, and Pat’s was tender and loving and fun and right on point – just like he is.

At the end, Lauren said, “Grandpa, we love you from the inner.” And it was then that I knew Pat was on to something in fourth grade.

When we take time to really consider the people around us and how they are part of us; when we are thankful; when we view each other with gratitude; when we let the extra stuff fall away and take time for what matters, we love from the inner.

Nothing we will ever do is more important. I can't think of a more fitting legacy for a dad, grandpa and friend.