I attended my cousin's funeral yesterday, Nov 22, 2011. She and I had been close as children, but because my dad was in the army we, unfortunately, did not grow up together. Of all my many cousins she, her sister and I were the closest. I remember spending summers with the girls and their two brothers out in the country in New Castle, Pennsylvania. We played in the barn and out among the grape arbor, romping in the huge back yard, and the fields beyond. We picked fruit from a large cherry tree and captured butterflies and bumble bees in jars. Watched and caught lightning bugs in the summer nights.
Those were days of carefree laughter. Later I spent time with them when I was about eighteen. We were older and had more than picking fruit on our minds. By this time the family had moved to a small town in Ohio and new adventures awaited us. My uncle, their father was a Baptist preacher and we were PKs (Preacher's Kids). We had to be on our p's and q's, but mischief is bound up in the heart of a child and it was our delight to pull pranks on their very straight laced mom, my aunt.
Auntie was always very prim and proper, so our boisterous and rowdy sense of humor was not humorous to her. Both we and she survived and ultimately went our separate ways. After I married, we moved our family to Ohio to stay in my husband's home town while he was assigned duty in Germany. This was a temporary move since we were to join him when housing for our family became available. During that time, cousins reunited and we spent many days back and forth to each other's homes.
When I left that time, I did not see her again for over thirty years. For some reason we did not stay in touch. We just went our separate ways. We would hear news via relatives, but no effort to connect was made even though we lived only 200 miles apart.
Amazingly enough the last time I saw her healthy was at a funeral... our mutual aunt, sister to her mother and mine. We were happy and joyful to see one another, but again parted and did not stay in contact. Enter Facebook ten years later and we friended on Facebook.
For the first time in all those years we were connected. We teased one another about coming to visit and tried to pull rank on who should visit whom. She was active on Facebook; posting several times a day. Then I noticed I did not see posts from her. No indication of why. I saw a request asking for prayer posted by one of her children. I began to inquire and found out that she was ill.
She came through and again began actively posting on Facebook. Shortly, she again vanished from the posts, and I saw more posts requesting prayer. In retrospect, the distance between us was so short, we could have spent many days together, but sadly, she lost her battle to stay well before we had an opportunity to visit.
As I sat there yesterday, listening to her eulogy given by two of her sons and her brother, a deep sadness filled me. One of her sons quoted from a book; a journal of questions he asked and she answered, titled by her name and published as a small book. These were questions asked and answered about her life... a living legacy written by her own hand.
I did not know the woman they eulogized, but I wish I had. I would have enjoyed her sharp wit and humor. Her love of wisdom and knowledge, politics and family. We could have sharpened one another; compared writings and enjoyed common interests. I did not know the woman who raised her children to honor one another, who taught them to press and not give up. The woman who raised lawyers, doctors, and educators. Not only did I not know her, I did not know any of her ten living children.
I sat in the midst of at least a hundred people who did not know who I was, even as I did not know them although we are related. I sat among her children and grandchildren as a stranger. I wouldn't sit in family assigned seating; it would not have been appropriate.
I muse and ponder the missed opportunities and allow the possibilities to play themselves out. Regret is the most frequent visitor at funerals. I have chosen to not allow regret to take anything else from me.
No comments:
Post a Comment