Hello World!
Your pardon, please. I must pause in the story of creating my novel. Today I must share a familial story instead. It is the tale of this past year.
A year ago, I discovered an article on the Internet about Mom’s brother, my Uncle Don, now living in a retirement home in Florida. It gave the family an emotional lift, as Don had lost his ability to communicate verbally, and had barely kept in touch for some time. A well-beloved, soft-hearted joker of a man it showed Don with an adoring younger woman who remembered a good turn he had done her 60 years or so in the past. A flurry of communication among Mom’s family members ensued, and I printed the picture from the article on our Christmas card last year.
In May, my husband Tom and I took a long-planned trip to upper New York State, where my mother was born. I wanted her to go with me and point out the Medina, NY sites she recognized. She could see her sister Jan and cousin Flo as well. But she felt the trip would be too difficult for her, so Tom and I went instead. Mom’s cousin Ben was nearby for his granddaughter’s birthday which sweetened the trip. He had lived with us briefly when I was growing up, and we still felt a strong bond.
The trip was a success. Medina lived for me through Mom's tales. Ben and wife Elizabeth accompanied us, recapturing our long relationship. We visited Flo, pushing 90 years old, who enjoyed the occasion as much as any birthday. She was amazed at pictures of Mother -- how had she grown so old! Tom took a photo of us laughing together that portrayed the day perfectly.
We visited Aunt Jan and her husband Pete on another precious day. Needing a walker, she rarely left her little condo. But except for her shocking white hair, she was the same woman I had known as a child. Her voice and mannerisms reminded me of Mom, and she was pleased to see my pictures and hear about the day in Medina. Jan was 90, and her husband 94.
Two months after the trip, in July, Mom heard that Flo had passed away. I was sad, but more for Mom, whose generation was dwindling, than for myself or the delightful woman I had met on my visit. Yesterday, Mom’s call signaled a deeper loss. Just before Thanksgiving, Aunt Jan had been diagnosed with cancer, and she passed away yesterday morning – about six months after my visit.
Then Mom described how she had attempted to reach Uncle Don, only to find that he, too, had passed away earlier this year. Neither she nor Jan had been contacted. She had effectively lost her sister and brother in the same day. He had been 91.
So now there is just my mom and Ben left of her generation. The five have become two – all too quickly. My sister and I are quickly becoming the older generation. How can such a thing be?
But I am blessed to have had that long-delayed visit. I grieve, but I am lucky to have known Mom’s family. As the pain fades, I'll revisit the memories, all tied up in a Christmas card and the photo of a laughing woman I met only once.
