Listening to Ancestors

I was listening today to my music, when suddenly I realized, that my music was your music when you were alive.
All your hopes and dreams suddenly became real, as if I was living them through your eyes.
I saw a day of battle that men were getting gear, I saw women sewing and babies playing near. I saw the happy times the sad times, the struggles and joys of your life.
I wonder how you survived it all and here I am alive.
I wish I could see your faces clear, your eyes, your hands.
I wish I could hear the sound of your laugh the strength of your tears.
I could hear a wail in the bagpipes I heard, I imagined it was one of you loosing one so dear. The sound of the drums was the beating of your heart, ever alive and new. The fiddle was your voices carried away by the wind, ever blowing, ever changing. Coming closer, then fading away again.
I could picture you dancing in a meadow, with tall grasses and flowers. Scottish kilts riding off into the sunset finding new challenges, and realizing new dreams.
I wish I could have seen you then, how you lived your life. What do I have to compare it to? How will I ever understand?
You all gave me something deeper than the life I have now, you passed down your faith in God, and that is all I have in common with you now.
Gone are your names and faces, gone are your laughter and tears for this life had naught to offer you.
The next life, our life in heaven, I await the hours to hear all your stories, to get caught up on all I missed.
I thank you for your struggles, I thank you for your grief, I thank you for your joys, and I thank you for your peace. For if you had not lived them, I surely would not be me.