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The Circle
I was walking to the recreation hall. It was time to start the Family Talent Show that I had coordinated. I thought of my father. I had always asked him to take part, to tell a story or recite a poem or to give a prayer. This year I had neglected to ask him. It nagged at me a little, but I brushed it off as I hurried to the rustic log building that housed the rec hall.
Up the hill, between the pines, my aunts, uncles and cousins were gathering. There was chaos as people found their seats. I didn’t notice where my father was, as all the nervous children gathered around me to see where their skit fell in the show’s line-up.
We were at our semi-annual family camp at Gold Lake. We gather in this Sierra paradise with all of our relatives for a week every other summer, enjoying the fresh air, pine trees, sparkling lakes and mountain trails. The talent show is one of the highlights. During the week you can spy small groups of kids running through their songs or chatting excitedly about an idea for a funny skit.
My father is the current patriarch of the family. He is the oldest living uncle. Of his six siblings there are only three still with us. During our week at camp, those who have passed on seem to constantly be with us. In every memory of years past, they are there. We remember when they sat among us in the dining hall, or when they hiked beside us up to the top of Indian lookout, or when they performed in the talent show. We can feel their presence very strongly as we gather in this old mountain hall.
My eldest cousin opens the show with a wonderful song called, “There you’ll be.” Her voice is clear and lovely and we’re awed by the beauty of her song. She’s followed by a few skits, and then some cute children’s songs. Next comes the son of another of the eldest girl cousins. He sings a funny song and we’re all laughing at the comedy of it, the wonderful way he delivers the lines as he plays the ukulele, his clear strong voice and comedic facial expressions. We’re all so proud to be related to such talent and we thoroughly enjoy the chance to laugh together in a release of passions and emotions. For a moment we’re able to forget the little stresses of our everyday lives.
Now it’s my Uncle LeRoy’s turn. He takes the stage with his guitar and leads us in a song called The Circle. “Every life is a circle, sunrise and sundown.” We all accompany him and are reminded of the circle of life. We are all present in the beauty of the souls gathered in this room, from the oldest to the youngest. As we sing quietly, many of us have a lump in our throats. We’re all getting older. Each of us remembers summers when we were much younger, the many phases of our lives played out upon this stage and in the fellowship of this family. We’ll be here when we’re older still, and our generation will replace the current one. We’re hushed as my uncle strums the strings of his guitar and we all sing along. The song is over followed by loud applause and appreciation for his talent and thoughtfulness.
As we prepare the stage for the next act, our attention is brought to the back of the room. It’s my father. Several nurse cousins are hovered over him. He’s suffering some kind of attack. He’s going unconscious. He’s not responding. I’m incredibly scared. This can’t be it. He can’t die right here. Not tonight. I need him too much. We’re not done. This show is not over for him. My mind is screaming “NO!” I’m helpless as others attend to him. Cousins, aunts and uncles are ushered from the room. Lay him down. Loosen his pants. Let him breathe. Pretty soon he comes to. “What is everyone looking at? What happened?” This is the right question.
The ambulance comes. He’s rushed away. The family’s shaken. If we hadn’t been reminded of our mortality with my uncle’s song, this incident with my father has absolutely forced us to confront it. The talent show was cut short by my father; in my organizing of the show I hadn’t given him a spot, yet he ended up stealing the show. Each and every one of us was forced to realize the preciousness of life. I’m sure most of us in that room had instant thoughts of my Uncle Don, the oldest brother, gone more than seven years now and Aunt Vera, the middle sister who God took early because she was such an angel. And Uncle Wayne, the youngest brother who died much too soon of Lukemia. And, of course, our Grandma, my father’s mother who passed in her sleep, in the rest home where she’d been for years, while all of us were gathered at this camp. It was at the conclusion of one of these talent shows, ten years ago, that we all gathered in a circle and remembered her life.
Some of the younger kids were sorry they didn’t get to perform their skits. They may not realize it now, but their turn will come. They’ll have their time on the stage, and they’ll play out all of the dramas of their lives within the circle of this family.
The morning after the talent show I went with my mother and brother to pick up my father from the hospital. The doctors found nothing wrong and he was given a clean bill of health. In the car en route, I discovered a text message on my phone. It was from a friend who had no idea of what had happened the night before. She had sent an image. It was colored type on a white background that read, “Everything happens for a reason.” There was no other message, just this image. I sat, startled by this message from the universe, but the more I thought, the more I was sure of the reason.
What had happened the night before was a simple, yet profound reminder of the absolute importance of family. We all felt the deep river of love that runs through the generations.
My uncle was right – life is truly like a circle.