It was a grey rainy day when we gathered to honor her memory. We fell in to the pews with heavy sighs realizing that the dreaded hour had arrived. The simple motion of the service drove the reality home. The battle had ended. Her courage and selflessness had been breathtaking. Loss of hair and loss of energy had oddly never affected her beauty. It shone through. She was stunning. Her courage and stamina were awesome. She never feared for herself. She worried about us.
The bell sounded. The words began. The hymns. The readings. She had planned this ceremony herself. She methodically took incredibly organized steps to make the journey easier on us. Planning her service, categorizing thousands of photographs and mastering a thorough home inventory were just a few of her loving gestures. The physical and emotional toll ignored, she soldiered on. Deliberate and determined, she managed to do it all.
Inclusion. Acceptance. Unconditional love. Tolerance. Those words were certainly reflections of her life. The tears continue to flow just when we thought we could cry no more. We will miss the southern girl predictably bringing butter beans and tomatoes to gatherings. We will remember her love of home-made vanilla ice cream and peaches. Who could forget the sparkle in her eyes when she won at backgammon, badminton, words with friends or mexican train or the way her face lit up when she spoke of her family with love and pride. Her enthusiastic love of tennis and her devotion to Andy Roddick were contagious. She loved red velvet cake and buttermilk pie. Her enormous capacity to love and laugh and live. How could those parts of her not be mentioned? She had so many perfect layers.
Her watercolor painting and cooking and gardening. Her passion for books and the written word and reading. Her love of the beach and seafood. Her boundless excitement for all things new. Her curiosity. Her love of travel. Her love of movies and games and sense of humor. Her love of all living creatures. Her eye for design and never-ending rearrrangement of furniture and art-work. Her validation of our feelings and encouragement for our quests. Her faith and compassion. Her unending capacity to love. Her grace.
Another recitation and prayer. The peace of the Lord be always with you. And also with you. Finally. The peace. Time to hug. Our hearts are aching. We need to hug. She would want us to hug today and every day. We can feel her smiling, beaming really, seeing us being there for each other. It was never about her. It was always about us.
The invitation to the eucharist is momentarily bobbled like a football pass in her favorite game but all is well and all receive communion. Inclusion. Acceptance. Unconditional love. Tolerance. She is with us, guiding us through the brief turbulence and to the altar. And she will continue to steer us through any stumbles or obstacles. She will show us the way.
The Prayer of St. Francis. Every word reminds us of her. To love with all my soul. Then her eldest grandson performs his original composition written for her. Amazing. Perfect. She adored her family and so loved being a grandmother.
Morning Has Broken brings smiles to our faces as we know her love of that song. She had discussed its inclusion in the service and once again we are reminded that she planned this entire program.
The song ends.
We leave sustained by her love and her strength and her memory. She is with us. We know which team she is pulling for in any game. We know which tennis player she wants to win the tournament. We know that we were so blessed to know her and love her and be loved by her. She is with us still. Watching. Loving. Supporting. She is at peace. It has always been about us. She was never worried about her death . She was worried about our lives and not leaving anything undone or unsaid. And she did not. We know she wants us to be happy and laugh and love and live. And remembering her every day, we will.
We close our eyes and see her. Tossing her hair, with a twinkle in her eyes and her glasses positioned in her blouse and her arms outstretched to embrace us. She is healthy. She is strong. She is happy. She knows when we laugh loudly, hug tightly, look at the moon , see a rainbow, breathe in the air, make a free-throw, complete a composition or painting or photograph or hear the seagulls calling that we feel her. We hear her cheer when we close a case or help a friend or a stranger.
It was always about us until it wasn't. Every ounce of our being wanted her to stay but we had to let go. She is healthy. She is strong. She is happy. She has taken our love with her. We have her forever in our hearts. She is an indelible part of us. Her love for us remains just as strong and ever-present. Only she could pull that off.
She had an insatiable competitive spirit that surfaced in board games, art contests, tennis, football and even life-threatening illnesses. She was all in. She was in it to win it. That is how she faced every hurdle, obstacle, hurt and challenge. Given an unbeatable diagnosis and incredibly short future, she managed to rally super-human inner strength and accomplish tremendous feats all while fighting her disease with everything available to her. And she did it. She had priorities and she systematically checked them off.
And for that and so many other reasons, she wins. She always loved to win. Game. Set. Match.
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