Later in the day that Nonno died, we were sitting around the table. The busy-ness of life was mentioned.
“Isn’t it interesting how it’s busy busy busy busy, gotta go here, do this, do that, etc., but once you get that call, everything stops.”
That resonated with me. Even after a few days, the feeling that time had stopped stayed with me.
Because in that moment, something shifts.
There’s a silence that settles in.
A slower pace that takes over.
Not much else matters in that space. You take your time. All those little things you “have” to do fall to the wayside. Your family members’ little irritants cease to bother you.
You realize the importance of being present with those around you. No rush. Room to breathe, even at times when it feels like you can’t. Space to feel. To cry. To scream. To hug. To hold. And most importantly laugh, remember, and share.
You band together. Family and friends come from far and wide. Some you haven’t heard from in a long, long time come out of the woodwork to let you know how much that person did for them, meant to them, affected their life. They reach out to give support, to show their love. To be in the space where all the love for that one person culminates. Closeness increases.
The feeling of love is almost tangible. It’s in the tears as well as the laughs.
Time stops to let us bask in the glory of that person’s life. To fully feel that person in each other now. Going forward, we’ll look to each other to see Nonno. We’ll ask each other, “Remember when…?” We’ll laugh or cry. We’ll pour some wine in his honor and toast him. He’ll still be here with us. Because energy doesn’t disappear. It shifts. We move forward without him physically, but he’s not gone. ❤
Raising LeBar 