In the stillness of the morning a breath – shaky, perhaps – and final.
It seeps out – a sigh, a whisper, a goodbye.
The breath of life does not leave with the strength of a hurricane. It leaves quietly, a gift to the morning stillness. It is the breath of completion, the time of goodbye, and yet it is so much more.
The final breath is the breath of remembrance.
It does not dissipate into the stillness. It sprouts wings and takes flight.
It whispers into the ears of lovers and friends, children and neighbors, companions, loved ones, progeny.
Remember, it says.
The soul is free, the light unbound.
Remember,
The life, the steps, the journey.
Remember.
And the breath whispers into the ears, sharing the memories.
Some will remember the pillar of greatness that rose like a beacon, giving direction and hope to those who were lost.
Others will remember the light shining, a torch in the darkest of nights lighting the way home.
For some, it will be love they remember; they’ll smile at the soul peering out from beautiful blue eyes that were more window than eye. The gift of this soul was his ability to peer through one’s darkness and find the light. Many will remember the love of his soul breathing light back into their life.
This soul saw only the truth. In return, they saw the truth, too. The gift of this soul is his ability to peer through one’s darkness and find the light. Many will remember the love of his soul breathing light back into their life.
Still others will remember the words, the prayers, the faith and conviction, the knowing that we are loved, that we are upheld, that there is a God and he is ours to commune with.
So many memories whisper on the final breath, many that show the path, inspire the life, and still others that are much simpler but beautiful all the same.
The smiles.
The acceptance.
The love.
But one can’t forget the snows and sleds, tractors and campouts, and blue jumpsuits worn only when working.
The memories speak of another whisper, the whisper of wind through pines planted by his own hand, pines that grew taller and taller – trees to measure a life.
Most will remember snow cones and popcorn, and great summer barbecues.
And for the lucky? They’ll hear the breath as it whispers reminders of Christmas, pajamas, and jubilant carols. They’ll see a vision of a man singing wholeheartedly, surrounded by children all clamoring for his lap.
Yes, the final breath is the breath of goodbye,
but it carries with it the gift of remembrance,
And it is a beautiful gift indeed.
~Julianne Kelsch
The soul is free, the light unbound.
Remember,
The life, the steps, the journey.
Remember.
And the breath whispers into the ears, sharing the memories.
Some will remember the pillar of greatness that rose like a beacon, giving direction and hope to those who were lost.
Others will remember the light shining, a torch in the darkest of nights lighting the way home.
For some, it will be love they remember; they’ll smile at the soul peering out from beautiful blue eyes that were more window than eye. The gift of this soul was his ability to peer through one’s darkness and find the light. Many will remember the love of his soul breathing light back into their life.
This soul saw only the truth. In return, they saw the truth, too. The gift of this soul is his ability to peer through one’s darkness and find the light. Many will remember the love of his soul breathing light back into their life.
Still others will remember the words, the prayers, the faith and conviction, the knowing that we are loved, that we are upheld, that there is a God and he is ours to commune with.
So many memories whisper on the final breath, many that show the path, inspire the life, and still others that are much simpler but beautiful all the same.
The smiles.
The acceptance.
The love.
But one can’t forget the snows and sleds, tractors and campouts, and blue jumpsuits worn only when working.
The memories speak of another whisper, the whisper of wind through pines planted by his own hand, pines that grew taller and taller – trees to measure a life.
Most will remember snow cones and popcorn, and great summer barbecues.
And for the lucky? They’ll hear the breath as it whispers reminders of Christmas, pajamas, and jubilant carols. They’ll see a vision of a man singing wholeheartedly, surrounded by children all clamoring for his lap.
Yes, the final breath is the breath of goodbye,
but it carries with it the gift of remembrance,
And it is a beautiful gift indeed.
~Julianne Kelsch