This is less about the Michael's passing, but about the most beautiful bond immigrants share. Those songs and memories they carried in their hearts. Those songs that held them together.
This gist of this story is about the beauty of a wake, and strength of America's immigrants. As the hours grew late, the liquor took its effect, first a fiddle, then a tin whistle, next the Mandolin, and then comes the singing. The ladies sing, the men sing, and everyone sings. Trust me when I say singing is the heart of any immigrant. The Ladies sing "I'll take you home Kathleen" to remind their men of the promises made to take them home again. The men sing Irish Rebel songs. Then come the lament songs, the pouring out of the grief, the sorrow, the passion and lost of leaving your home behind. It's the laments that hold immigrant souls together. In Grandfather's time, most immigrants left, and never went home again. It's something the old immigrants shared with today's undocumented immigrants. If you are undocumented it's the same. You can't go home. Going home means you can't come back. Besides going back after 30 or 40 years means being a stranger in your own homeland. My grandfather would love thees undocumented. His bond with them would be strong. For immigrants it's the journey not the status that unites them.