One Hannah is musical. One of my earliest memories of her is as a toddler, holding her violin and asking her mother, her teacher, "Please teach me." She is a couple years older than our youngest, but they grew up together. They were in the same class at church. We spent Thanksgivings at her home. Our families would get together for dinners and haircuts. Our sons wore her brothers' hand-me-downs. Hannah stayed home, studied music at Ohio State, and met a nice boy.
The other Hannah is literary. Her dad is the youth group leader and the worship leader, and our younger sons and I served on the worship team with him for several years. As gregarious as her father is, Hannah is quiet. She retreats to the world of words and would love nothing more than to spend a chilly afternoon with a cup of tea, a book, and a fire. My youngest son and she were part of the same kind of nerdy crowd who went to the midnight premier of LOTR in costume, and again, they were in the same class in church. This Hannah went off to college in Texas where our two younger sons are, and met a nice boy.
This week their lives mingle with ours in different ways. Their stories will bookend next week. For the last 5 years, our musical Hannah has been battling cancer. She lost her battle Tuesday night and she is now complete and whole in Heaven. We will bury this Hannah on Monday. I'm honored to be choosing music to play during the calling hours and the celebration of her life following internment.
The week ends with a celebration of another kind. Hannah, the wordsmith, will be getting married the following Saturday. She's marrying our youngest son's former room mate. While I'm busy knitting a gift and sewing a dress for this Hannah's wedding, I'm also picking out music for the other Hannah's farewell--one Hannah's soundtrack forever coloring the wedding memories of the other, but in a good way. For me, tying these projects of love together celebrates the lives of both Hannah's.
Ecclesiates 3:4 describes this week the best:
A time to weep and a time to laugh;A time to mourn and a time to dance.