HANDS

A little act .. how it can touch so deeply.

How a moment between my teenage self and my Great Uncle Gordon, could bring tears this morning … as I looked across at a huge tree with its branches, filled with green leaves, sweeping the ground.

A remembering comes over me.

I remember visiting Uncle Gordon on Sundays.

Tomato sandwiches and bananas.

His favourite.

Our family would sit in the gardens of Kew Cottages – and as Uncle Gordon slowly took in each bite of these gifts, I notice the splendour of such huge green trees touching the ground.

And peacocks.

Such colour, peace & splendour.

 

Something didn’t feel right though …

What was the purpose of those heavy stone walls beyond the gardens?

Those thick locked dungeon doors.

The cold.

The dark.

The echo of a door slamming shut.

Shiny floors.

Men with heavy sets of so many keys hanging by their side.

 

I remember thinking:

Why is Uncle Gordon imprisoned like this?

But I accepted it and never proposed anything different to what was.

 

His fishing & hunting stories in the early days on Phillip Island captivated me.

And him living through that tossing of a coin between 2 brothers  … about who would go off to war and who would stay home to run the family farm… then the loss of a brother who never returned from that war.

 

One day in 1986, our family was invited in to say our final goodbyes to Uncle Gordon.

I am so deeply grateful that our parents valued him (and our connection with him) as much as they did, that this invitation was accepted.

There – in this small, cold, single bed, white room – lay this man.

Motionless except for the rising and falling of his chest.

 

After being with him for the last time, mum & dad signalled time to go.

Something came over me.

There was this very clear message telling me to sit beside Uncle Gordon and hold his hand.

(Another moment of : thank goodness my parents listened to me instead of pushing to go when they had said!)

 

As I sat beside Uncle Gordon, holding his hand, his eyes closed, I had no idea if he could hear me.

But I spoke anyway.

 

I whispered some words …

…. encompassing my love for him

…. and that it was ok for him to let go.

 

Then this miracle.

Uncle Gordon squeezed my hand!

 

His presence is strong here now .. as I take in that green sweeping tree in front of me.

Tears flow.

 

As I feel this energy running through me, peace eventually comes.

Breath helps.

 

The gift of this moment then bubbles up :

Where have we imprisoned ourselves?

How often have we accepted things – even when it didn’t feel right?