Sixty years ago yesterday my grandparents got married. Opa was 24, Oma was 20. They had a joint wedding with another couple. Oma sewed her own dress. Yesterday, their five children, four children in laws, nine grandchildren (we missed you SP!), and a few close friends gathered in the hospital room to celebrate. My family knows how to throw a party, normally. Grandparents' 55th wedding anniversary party was one of the best parties I've ever attended. There were friends from everywhere, food, homemade wine, singing and folk dancing, and goofing off til late. There's a great picture from that night, with my grandpa sitting in the middle, wearing a santa hat, tired, tipsy, happy - and he was surrounded by my cousins and me, who were also tired, tipsy, and happy.
Yesterday we again surrounded him. We surrounded him with prayer and singing and congratulations. We each, one by one, went beside him, hugged and kissed him, as he lay there connected to monitors and tubes. We were told he could still hear us, so we whispered or talked softly into his good ear. But my cousin AP spoke loud enough for us to hear, and maybe she wanted to make sure that Opa could hear: "Opa, Opa, aku sayaaaang sekali sama Opa. Semua di sini sayaang sekali sama Opa. Terima kasih ya, Opa, untuk semuanya." Grandpa, Grandpa, I love you veeeery much. Everyone here loves you veeery much. Thank you so much for everything.
It's so strange to say goodbye in the midst of the celebration. Or is it the other way around? Was it a celebration wedged uncomfortably in the middle of mourning? Who could say.
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