Family

What is family? Is it blood? Is it marriage?
Family can come to us in strange ways. Be open to these.

We lost a family member this past week. For our daughter she was blood - for my wife she was family by marriage - for me... well... she was just family.
Is it odd for the sister of my wife's ex husband to be family to us?
Yes.
Of course it is. But life is odd. Wrap your arms around oddity, people. Embrace and treasure the oddity.

Nancy was as unique as they come. She was one of the happiest people I have ever known. She and her husband, Marcus, were folks from a different era, tho not so much older than we. Marcus was that sort of able guy, who are all but extinct now, that can do it all. He built the house they lived in top to bottom - he could build a car out of spare parts laying around the yard -and he had several spare cars out there to choose from. He could wire and plumb and had sheds filled with stuff he 'might need' all over their property. Of course he actually used the stuff.
He loved life. He loved his wife.

She was an artist. Prolific. She painted and sculpted and beaded and drew and and wrote and pasted and cut and sewed always.
She laughed.
Alot.
Loudly.
She did not care what anyone thought of her. Some people claim to be this way - she really was. It truly didn't bother her.
She never threw anything away. Everything had a story, everything had a meaning.
She loved life, she loved her husband and her children and their lives.

Nancy was all heart. Marcus was all ingenuity - together they were ...

Friday night we gathered at their home on the hill with family and some friends around a colossal bonfire.

There was no wake, no church, no procession. It was exactly as she would have wanted it.
So much so in fact it truly felt like she was there.

I stood close to the fire, feeling the warmth, watching firelight lick the trees, a cool autumn breeze tossing little sparks around like fireflies. I looked toward the warm glow of their house seeing people gathered on the deck by a table scattered with bottles of booze and soda in various stages of consumption - she could have so easily been there in that group... chatting and laughing, telling her own stories. I bent my head to listen... to see if I could hear her loud cackling laugh.
I think I did.

I wandered up to the house for a refill. At the table on deck I lifted a wine bottle to the moonlight to see if it held another glassful. I felt her presence there so strongly, I turned to see if she was looking over my shoulder, perhaps to check if there were enough for two glasses in that bottle of red.
I am certain she was.

When we left, we hugged, we cried again, and as we drove away I looked back up the driveway as if I would see her waving goodbye and then turning to clutch Marcus by the arm and head back to her party, and the roaring fire, and her family.
I wish they had.

Peace.