Tonight I went upstairs to enjoy my guilty pleasure. No, get your heads out of the gutter.
I wanted to watch my show. For years, I have been sneaking away to catch up on the psychic goings on of one Allison Dubois, a television character based (loosely) on a real person. Lately, because the Friday night timeslot for "Medium" has coincided with bowling night, I've taken to waiting until Scott's snoring in the chair before stealing away to enjoy what's on the DVR.
This week was very much the same as all the rest. It's been a strange season, what with oldest daughter Ariel off at college in Boston (and therefore a rare appearance on the show) and Allison at a crossroads in her professional career, but I've enjoyed my hour with the Dubois family.
Episodes of "Medium" have a hallmark of being resolved at the very last second, sometimes (to my chagrin) unsatisfactorily to the tie-all-loose-ends logic I like. Tonight, as we followed Allison and her brood seven years after a major trauma, all I could think of was how the episode would wrap.
Wrap was the operative word. It was the series finale. No one bothered to tell me. I figured that out when, during the final credits, they trotted out all the major players with their credit lines. Of course, by that time I was bawling. The denouement was reminiscent of the best show ever on television ("Six Feet Under") in that everybody dies eventually, but with a bit of hope that only "Medium" could deliver: Allison and Joe are reunited for eternity on the other side.
I cried hardest when I projected the reunion of my grandparents, which is inevitably coming nearer and nearer. My beatuiful Mimi and my handsome, strong Granddaddy, who exhibited the strongest love between two people I have ever witnessed, will someday relatively soon be reunited to live out their love with each other and with Christ for all of eternity.
My Mimi is without a doubt the most precious person I have ever known. She taught me how to cook and she taught me the true value of volunteerism. She taught me that friends are best kept close, but I am afraid I have let busyness get the better of me in that area. She is selfless and giving, a beautiful person on the inside even if time has stolen what must have surely been so adorable on the outside so many years ago. Ill health has squeezed away her ability to live on her own, but sometimes a twinkle still shines in her eye. She'll turn 86 (87?) this week. And apparently she was in the hospital recently, although no one bothered to mention that to me. I found out in a Facebook post that just showed up on my wall. It doesn't escape me that among the gazillions of posts that hit my wall every day, I could have missed it. I just let it go. I can't fix this now.
That kind of sums up my relationship with Mimi over the past decade or so. Granddaddy died on a Thursday in February, and later that year, Daddy died on a Thursday in October. Right then, things began to change in my family. I tried to hold on, but I felt more like an outsider every time a decision was made and I found out about it after the fact. I eventually got the hint and moved on. Nowadays, I am so busy I don't have time to think about things like deteriorating family ties, but I still have memories of summers and holidays and the people who loved me most.
My most treasured hope aside from the promise of eternity beside my Lord is the hope of my reunion with those people. I want to make fudge with Nana, play piano with Mama Nash, and hear Granddaddy return thanks before the meal. I want to thank Aunt Donnie for good advice and hear Aunt Bitty tell her stories. I want to fish with my Uncle Buddy and have coffee with my Papaw and Sarah. I want to hang out and talk about old times with some friends. I want to meet those patriarchs I never had the pleasure of knowing on Earth. And I just want to hug my Daddy's neck and know that I'll never have to ache for that hug. Never again.
Nobody needs to tell me that.
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