I feel like I should be writing this on paper instead of a computer, but the words are coming quickly and I express myself faster this way. I got a text from Kelly yesterday saying that you asked the nurse if you were dying. When the nurse asked if you would be okay with that, you answered yes. Through the tornado of emotions I am feeling, every time I go back to that exchange, I feel peace. You have lived a long, full life. Full of love and adventure. You are ready and I get that. Is it easy for me? No. The exploding heart and rivers of tears are evidence, as if I needed any, but most of all, I feel gratitude. And love . . . so much love. If my math and memory are correct, you have lived over 96 years, and I have shared more than 43 so far. I have been blessed.
In thinking of how I want to say good-bye when it is time, I keep returning to 'thank you.' My memory is running an old home movie reel, on a white sheet hung up on a wall crookedly with tacks, complete with the shaky imagery and the clicking sounds as the film goes from one roll to the next. I imagine the canisters piled up with the content titles written in a shaky script with black sharpie. The canisters have titles such as: Christmas, May long weekend, playing in the attic, New Year's Eve, Easter, the basement, and A Collection of Moments.
The shaky film shows hundreds of family dinners, on the long wooden table covered in a white embroidered tablecloth, the kids' table attached on the end. Turkey, ham, roast beef, yorkshire pudding, carrots, mashed potatoes and more. And dessert. Always so much dessert.
Romoli. Big games of Romoli with the giant bowl of pennies ready to share out.
The piano, where I learned to play Greensleeves, and played it over and over again each time I visited. You think I would have progressed, but it is still tucked away in my memory, ready to play each time I see a piano.
The old record player where I discovered a record with Good Night, Irene on it and thought it was the coolest thing, with your name being Irene and all. I imagined it had a great story behind it.
The old wooden box where you kept all the pencil crayons along with random other pens and markers, ready for me to colour with. I remember the joy and calm that box brought me. I have it on my own shelf now and it always makes me smile.
The baking. Oh, the baking. I have a clear image of you filling up the coffee table with so much baking and still regularly coming around with a plate of goodies telling us that just one more wouldn't hurt.
You and Papa always knew how to make us feel special. I remember you coming to so many of our sporting events and band concerts - if you could drive there, you would be cheering us on. Every visit, before we left you took a family photo in front of our car. This would be a fascinating look into our growth over the years, but again, it simply showed us how much you cared. One of the longest-standing traditions that my mom and dad carry on to this day is waving goodbye. Every time we drove away from your house to go home at the end of a visit, you both stood in the yard waving good-bye. I do not know how long you waved but I know we could see you waving as long as we could see you. These are just a few of the memories but each one connects back to you in my heart.
It is not yet time to say good-bye and for that, I am grateful. So I can still thank you for the lifetime of memories, love and joy, that are mine because of what you and Papa created with this family. My heart is with you wherever you are.
