This week I attended 2 funerals. I hate funerals and usually try to avoid them, but these were two that I really couldn't. Both were for women of great worth... those real Proverbs 31 variety.
On Monday I went to Bow Island to say goodbye to my most favorite Auntie Marion. When I was little I informed my parents that when they died I was going to go live with her and Uncle Harry. They were the kind of Uncle and Auntie that made everyone feel that they were their favorite - although I am pretty sure that in reality I am.
I can't really figure out how they became so dear to me because they were missionaries in South America so their days in Canada were pretty limited. But the time that I did spend with them was very precious. I actually went to stay with them for a month when I was 16. I flew all by myself to Caracus, Venezuela and they treated me like royalty. Uncle Harry took me to the beach with a bunch of other missionary kids and he took off his shoes and socks and sat in the shade while we spent the entire day in the water and sand. Auntie packed an amazing picnic for us. I helped them spruce up this house that they lived in on the Orinoco River. It was full of cockroaches and lizzards, but Auntie made it a sweet little place. It was my job to paint baseboards onto the cinderblock walls. I would freak out when a little salamander would run in front of me and leave little black lizzard foot prints up the wall. Uncle and Auntie would just laugh. I also got to visit them when they were in Peru a few years later. I was so blessed to be able to do that.
The other goodbye was for my buddy Shuggy's mommy. I called her mom too. She was one of those kind that it just came natural for everyone to do. She had alzheimers but it didn't change her into a miserable kind of person, but instead into an affectionate one. You couldn't come into the room without a full dose of hugs and kisses. She laughed at our jokes - even the really bad ones. She lit up when you walked into the room. She was an angel of joy... but now she is with Jesus.
These events have made me think about my own Mom. I really miss her. My friend Paula wrote
in her blog that grief is a cloak that we wear for a season. But every once in a while we try it on again to see if it still fits. It has been 4 years since Mom has been gone. That is a lot of denied memories - weddings, graduations, Christmas's. I think the cloak still fits... I love you Mom!
When I was little I always dreamed of one day being Cinderella. When I was up to my elbows in a sink full of dishes, or scrubbing out a bathtub, I believed that I already was - but I thought it would be wonderful to have a Fairy God Mother that would take me from rags to a glorious gown, that I would meet and fall in love with Prince Charming and live happily ever after. Sweet dream.
