April 23rd, 2012
I am in Rwanda right now, on the shores of Lake Kivu just
south of Gisenyi. Across the water lies Congo. So much of my history and being
grows out of Congo.
Tonight dad tells me (via txt) that they’ve moved grandpa
home from the Convalescent Center, that they are giving him two weeks. It feels
like a profound and sacred thing somehow. To me. To be here. To be close to the
land to which my grandparents—all of them— dedicated their lives and their
work. I feel extremely far away somehow and yet very close.
There is a big storm out over the lake tonight. The usually
quiet shore is tonight loud with the crashing of waves. Thunder. And the strobe
of lightening. Making me feel very earthly, temporal, and yet very
much alive and a part of it all.
How strangely sad to think of one of the pillars of my life
and history coming to an end. But how good to imagine Grandpa getting up out
of the river on the other side—like the good king Caspian… young. Tall. Strong.
In the fullness of his being. I imagine uncle Ham being the first there among
the crowds, waiting, to grasp his hand and pull him up out of the waters into
a booming hug. I long for this, even as my heart hurts
to think of death and separation.
There is a tree here at this place, an incredible old tree
close to the waters edge. Today after long hours, I lay under its great
umbrella of crisscrossing branches. And I thought of its age and stability and
strength. I imagined its roots, sustained by the waters of the lake and this peaceful and perfect place in which it lives. I thought too, of the turmoil through which it
has lived. Colonialism. Independence. Genocide. Healing and restoration. All
the while growing as only trees can, into the fullness of their beings.
I am grateful tonight. Grateful for my roots. Grateful for
my grandparents. My family. For those I met today. And for these sacred moments
of life.
Grandpa died peacefully at home on April 24th surrounded by the love and warmth of Grandma, Mom, Dad and Auntie Annie at 95.
What a gift.
