It always sort of astounds me, how Jesus talks about his death and resurrection. I'm pretty sure that his friends and companions wondered what he meant by it. Religious Apologists (that's those folks who debate the information in the Bible and it's historicity--or lack of it, whichever way you'd prefer to go)but the ones on the pro side say that he rose BODILY and literally LEFT the grave. Others claim that his body was "spirited away" (AHEM! No pun intended there!) by his followers. Another claims that the girls got lost and looked around for his tomb in the wrong end of town...or something to that effect, and then claimed his body was gone. Another group will tell you a different thing--you know how it says "what their itching ears want to hear" kind of thing.
I myself am of the group that thinks he was truly dead, and he rose--the only one who COULD, both body and spirit--maybe leaving behind a skid mark or two...some ash mingled in with the Frankenscense and Myrrh spices to keep his body from stinking up the place--I mean, let's face it--after 3 days ALIVE men simply REEK!
My father in law spent 3 days in the hospital, barely able to breath, let alone say much. He said a lot with his eyes, I think, as he passed in and out of consciousness and in and out of being able to hear what was being said. Most of his family was there--his children, who run the full spectrum of emotion--from darn near emotionless (my hubby, Jeff, who couldn't hold back that trembling lower lip when his daughter let fly with a pouring out of sadness that never did quit, but himself remained TEARLESS for all I know). Jeff's brother, who held everybody when they arrived and cried right along with them, saved his best tears for alone-time driving to our house on Wednesday--and the roads were pretty treacherous--but I must say, God's been with us to some degree protecting us from ourselves from driving too fast on bad roads simply because we must. Jeff's sister, who has similar afflictions as Jeff has, was nearest to me in tearful grief, and cried when others cried, suffering along and beside while jousting with our own muddled minds. And then, the youngest daughter, who cried endlessly for DAYS, held onto her mother and then held onto her father of failing health. My husband's son (and well, I guess my son too, but somehow I make the mistake of calling him a son-in-law), who never took the news of Poppa's cancer very well, seemed somehow to be able to withstand this--perhaps because his grandmother on his mother's side had just passed Christmas Eve, and so he had been holding up his mother, and just simply had no more tears left to cry.
Dad's twin brother (and wife) were there off and on--started to drive home, then turned around and started heading back! When his wife asked, he told her that he was going to give his brother one of his lungs. WHAT A GUY! Unfortunately, even if that had been done, the result would not have brought Poppa back.
And I've been thinking all day of the spirited, competitive Canasta games the four of us used to play, and how we really need to locate another couple to play cards with.
And my mother in law--one of the bigger than life sort of people that I've ever known--stayed in the room, sat by his side-sat on the bed-sat in the chair, but never strayed far, and didn't go home for clean clothing even--for the entire time. She would startle every time Poppa's breathing would start up again after a brief pause when she would think "This is it..." and I'd be standing behind her waiting to be able to say "Well, I guess that's it then," which I never did get to say, probably for the best actually, because people might think it totally inappropriate for me to say something like that--but it would be uncharacteristic for me to not say SOMETHING--because that's how *I* deal with it. A piece of humor in a difficult situation.
There were more family than that, of course--and it was pretty much like an ant following a sugar trail of the last ant for 3 days, as all of us trekked our way back into the outside world and away from the grief that stunned our lives and took our Poppa away. Ouch.
So then, buck up and get some work done at the office. Yesterday's card was the two of swords, entitled Opposition--and we all went to the funeral director's office to make arrangements--and it wasn't opposition so much as it was a lot of tough choices--what to leave in, what to leave out, and just like my blog, I'd be willing to bet that someone or something was left out or forgotten, without intention...
Today's Card is the Hanged Man. It generally stands for when there's a decision to make and everything hangs on the results of one other decision--or that the entire process is hung up with difficulties and problems--rather like the estate being tied up in Probate, but that's not what's being said here. It means that I'm feeling rather "blocked" today (true story) and like there's nothing I can do except to let things take their course, grieve and then hold onto the memories. So I'll get some work done for now, and I'll write more later.