My Grandma Pat is Dying

I laid two candles down.

I have a book she gave me that she said was too complicated for her, about religious archaeologists. I put it on the altar.

I poured out a glass of water.

I am Sarah,

daughter of Margaret,

daughter of Patricia,

daughter of Margaret,

daughter of Eliza,

daughter of Mary,

daughter of Irish mothers unknown.

I struck match to metal and lit one wick.

I called in my grandmother’s ancestors.

I called her mother Margaret Loretta Burke.

I called her father Robert Joseph Art.

I called out the names of her mother’s Irish ancestors:

Frank Burke and Eliza Conners,

Thomas and Ellen Burke,

David Conners and Mary Dowd,

Mrs. Ann Burke,

Barney Dowd.

I called out the names of her father’s German ancestors:

George Art and Katherine Pills,

Adam and Catherine Art,

John Pils and Mary Burzee,

George Arth and Wilhemina Wernersbach.

I asked them to watch over her, and to welcome her when she is ready to move on.

I lit the second candle. I asked them to watch over those of us who are afraid to let her go.

I spent the time it took the candles to burn down reading the book she gave me, connecting in to her Hospice bed across the miles. I spent my time reading also connecting into the thread of her that lives in me.

And breathing.

[A look into how I use my ancestor work in practical applications.]