The Tapestry

My father-in-law died last Sunday. We got the call Saturday morning that he was not doing well and that Laura needed to get there as soon as she could. Catching a flight to Cape Coral that afternoon, she spent her daddy's last twenty-four hours with her father and her family as they congregated at the hospital and then moved to the hospice house. It all happened fast. After nearly two years of suffering, he was under one hundred pounds and just speaking a few words was all he was able to do. Every time we saw him, we feared we may never see him again until finally he was gone.
Most everyone in the family turned to God during funeral and internment rituals. Having converted from Baptist to Catholic to marry my mother-in-law years ago, we were all convinced that he had met Jesus at some point, so no one really questioned the location of his eternal home. For two days we recounted and celebrated his life together until his body was pushed into the mausoleum which was then sealed with caulking, duct tape, and a large piece of marble.
Now we are home. Sorrow comes to my wife in unexpected punches and neither of us know when the the pugilist behind them will stop jabbing. Her daddy is gone. At forty years old, one would think that the death of a father should be easier, but when a piece of life's tapestry is removed, the hole cannot be repaired without deforming the artwork. Yet the tapestry still hangs on the wall, waiting for pieces to be added and taken away.
I am not sure what to make of it all except to say that maybe the point of a life is to be so blended into the fabric around you that when you are gone, the evidence of your presence should be so woven into all the other pieces, you are impossible to forget. Maybe a life lost is a lesson that we should be dedicated to the surrounding tapestry in hopes that our passing will be more "backing laid" than holes made.
Thanks Ed, for being woven deeply into the fabric of my story, and for laying the backing for my tapestry to grow.