I’ve been silent, and yes, dust bunnies have accumulated on my blog. I was reminded of this a few days ago while meeting someone for coffee. A local woman – a faithful follower of my blog – came to our table to ask if I’d stopped writing. She had missed my posts.

No…I haven’t stopped writing, but my posts are less frequent thanks to magazine articles, guest blogs, and such. I lead a weekly Bible study and a monthly writer’s critique group. I’ve presented author talks, had book signings, and attended writers’ conferences in Kansas, Iowa, and Florida. And, I still coach family historians and lead Generational Storytelling workshops. More recently, I’m in the middle of another ghostwriting gig – my third! You won’t want to miss this memoir due out in October 2026.

But, no worries. I will never stop writing! Not in this lifetime!

So…with apologies to my faithful followers, I’m back with a plan to blog with more consistency. Because….just as you missed me, I’ve also missed you. I love it when my readers respond, comment, or just stop by to chat.

Today, I’m reflecting on memories as a certain date is fast approaching. Join me as I step back in time to February 15, 2018.

I remember the day well…particularly one precious moment forever etched in my heart. I’ve not told many people about it, but I’ll never forget the gift held within that moment.

The setting is one that is familiar to so many of us – the bedside of a loved one who is nearing the end of life. It’s not a place we long to be, but one where our heart nudges us to go even though it’s difficult. A somber time when heartache and love are gently entwined.

Family members gather. Nurses remain watchful. Staff members show respect. Hospitality is visible on a cart by the doorway, stocked with fresh ice water, grab-n-go snacks, and tissues. Visitors who walk the hallway know what that cart means for those keeping a vigil inside that room.

We wait. We remember. We grieve. Sometimes in silence. Sometimes with unexpected smiles as shared memories bring a splash of joy even amidst the tension. Perhaps that’s part of the process of letting go.

We step away from that bedside for a time to take a walk, grab a snack, or give a hug. Sometimes, just to catch a breath of fresh air. Some of us pray for comfort and for peace. We check on others who are also waiting. Then we return to the bedside, because our loved one is still there.

On that day nearly eight years ago, I had stepped away for a time. For hours, there had been so very little to observe; just the gentle rise and fall of his chest underneath that crisp white sheet.

Then I returned to hold his hand again. To be with him so others could step away. That’s when I saw it! One single tear appeared. It welled up from beneath his closed eyelid to follow sparse lashes toward his pale cheek.

Still holding his hand, I leaned in to gently wipe away the tear with a corner of the sheet. In an effort to match this once-spunky guy, I said, “Hey! What’s up with the tear? Don’t you know there are no tears in Heaven? Let’s get that wiped away.”

No response…but none was expected.

I stood upright again, in silence, remembering the ornery man I met 50-some years earlier. The one my kids called Gramps. His life revolved around sports – Rock Chalk Jayhawks. And family. And friends. This guy never met a stranger and, in earlier years, would start a conversation with anyone. At any time.

For months, we had watched him slowly fade away. In fact, I wrote about his last birthday on an earlier blog   https://elainemcallister.com/that-glimpse-of-life-within/, but now the end was near. We knew it.

Death is such a hard reality, but our goodbyes had already been spoken on days when he was more lucid.

Still deep in thought, I noticed how peaceful his face was. Any trace of the tear was now gone. Then I realized the rise and fall of his chest had ceased. No shallow breaths escaped his lips. He was gone.

They say loss is more deeply felt by those who have known great love.

We knew his love. And, he knew ours. And, we still remember.

Rest in Peace!