waiting

With elbows resting comfortably on her yellow formica tabletop, precious, long afternoon visits with my Grandma were steeped in the aroma of freshly baked buns and strong brewed coffee. The two of us would sit, sometimes in gentle silence, watching the fluffy, gossamer snowflakes float outside the big picture window overlooking her modest front yard. I wish I had recorded those delicious moments, silence and all. More than mere coffee talk, these visits were a mutual opportunity to rinse off our jumbled thoughts and enjoy the comforting rhythm of each others breath.

In one moment my Grandma would be describing how it is to feel as though her insides are still 26 years old, while her outsides continue to age; when the only distraction from believing she's still young is the ache in her bones and the shocking reflection greeting her in the mirror each morning. In the next moment, especially when the conversation would lead us to long for my deceased Grandpa, she would confide, in all seriousness, that she was simply waiting to die.

My Grandma passed away some thirty years ago. Since then I have experienced my own moments when I believed I may be simply waiting to die. Whenever I disengage from my own life purpose, whatever I believe that may be on that day, the passing of time seems to stall. With nothing further ahead on which to focus, inertia has me waiting.

Illustrations © Barbara J Holzapfel

Facing the final chapter of one's life, when life purpose and long term goals are no longer required, one inhabits a new state of being devoid of the pressure to perform, impulse to impress, or need to achieve. This surprising state of grace creates a stillness in which peace resides. A profound waiting elevates the spirit and consoles the soul in preparation for the final step out of this lifetime.