death and life

Today was my stepdad's last day on Earth. The vessel he left behind will become ashes in the next day or so, then be interred in the plot which holds my mother's ashes and stepsiblings' mother's body. This is how much he loved my mother: he split his side of the plot and agreed to be cremated so she could still be by his side. Even though he is Catholic and, as such, had always intended to have a buried body.
The last few days, we have all spent a lot of time together at the hospital. We have talked of many things, many diverse subjects. Births of children now in their twenties, having children of their own. Weddings in the near future and weddings in the past decade. Favorite movies, favorite ringtones, favorite television shows. Songs we love, songs we hate. Boxers versus briefs versus both simultaneously. Bras and when to wear them and when to shed them.
Along the way, we've regained some of the sense of family we had in the 1980's and 1990's when Mama was alive. She and my stepdad were the heart of the family and we were all expected to enjoy each other's company frequently. For Labor Day, Memorial Day, the Fouth of July, we all descended upon their house for cookouts, bringing spouses, children, side dishes. For Thanksgiving, naught would do but to come to their house for the huge family feast of food and conversation and post-game napping. Christmas Eve, the house was filled with food to nibble and gifts to unwrap and children to be thrilled!
After Mama died in 2001, the family traditions did, too. The bridged family fell into nuclear units (I can just see my stepdad smile and say "I knew you would get some chemistry in there!). Sure, we still all reunited for Christmas Eve, but it was an abbreviated affair. No more of folks coming together all afternoon and mixing and mingling. Now we met at the house at 6 pm, made ouselves some sandwiches and gobbled sweets, quickly opened gifts in a madhouse, then packed up and left.
No more cookouts on the weekends of Memorial Day, Fourth of July, Labor Day. We all had our own cookouts and somehow didn't invite the others. We all moved into different and new "family" units with longtime and new friends. Sure, part of that is to be expected as the children grow older, as we ourselves grow older. It's certainly good to have "family" that we have CHOSEN, not been born into. The downside, though, is we have all drifted apart, losing sight of our relationships to each other.
His time in the hospital brought us all to one location for an extended period of time. His few short days led to long discussions and much contact between those he was leaving behind. His death has reunited us as a family.
I know Himself would have been pleased.