Celebration of a Life

Our world is covered in white. Yesterday as I was teaching, fluffy white flakes fell lazily to the ground outside my window. By the time I left for my car, kids were outside pummeling snowballs at each other, and of course, they threw a few my way as well. I screamed like a little girl and ran for the safety of my car. Supposedly more snow is on its way. Tomorrow we are predicted to get several inches. Maybe after this storm, winter will be headed out the door so that springtime can fill its shoes. Though it's beautiful outside, everything covered in crystal white, I am ready for emerald green.

Yesterday I skyped with Darian for quite some time. She filled me in on her life. That God for skype or else I would never know anything about this girl of mine. She refuses to talk on the phone, preferring to see my reactions in person. Thankfully she and Savana are coming home Thursday evening as their Grandma Madeline is flying in. Madeline has been diagnosed with terminal cancer of both the liver and the pancreas, so she is doing her "Farewell Grandma Tour."  She plans to spend three weeks on this side of the USA visiting grandkids and kids and her sister. It feels like she is just coming to visit. I can't really wrap my thoughts around the reality that this is very likely the last time I will see her healthy and well.

When I first met Madeline, she was a spry 52 year old--younger than Roy is now. She is only five foot tall but she is a go-getter. She has always been so careful to not get overly-involved in our lives, yet she has always been supportive and kind. She has always visited us once a year no matter where we've lived, bringing her generosity and love for food with her. As soon as she gets off the plane, she says, "What do you want to eat?" and then off we go to our restaurant of choice. She makes the best homemade tortillas and spaghetti sauce, true to her Italian heritage. She is straight from Italy--literally. Her mom came over on a boat, pregnant with Madeline.

Over the years she has cooked hundreds of tortillas, filling a plate with stacks of them each morning. They are to die for. In fact, when Savana was barely a year old, Madeline visited and Savana would say, "Tia, ma-maw; tia!" For several years, she kept track of how many she made over the course of a visit and one time, if my memory serves me correctly, it got into the 200's. How ridiculous is that? We're pigs, the five of us. But if you had one of her homemade tortillas, you would understand.

She has slowed down in recent years with the tortilla-making. The last time she visited, she only made a single batch. But of course, these days they land on my hips so I didn't complain. She has taught me multiple times how to make them. I know the recipe by heart. But...they never taste quite as good as hers. She has the touch. It's the same for all of her recipes. I've learned not to ask how she makes something because it's always just a little of this, and maybe a pinch of that...She just tastes and adds, then adds some more. But by the time she is finished, her sauces are sublime...and completely unique. I am never able to copy them perfectly...so I no longer try.

So her visiting? It's just weird. How do you wrap your thoughts around this is the last time. How do you manage to laugh and smile and make everything a celebration when your thoughts are reeling with I may never see her again. I don't really know how you deal with the knowledge that your life is coming to a close. I'm not sure what's better: the opportunity to say your last goodbyes or simply ... you just go quietly in the night with no warning.

But truly I am glad for three days with her. We will spend plenty of time talking and eating. My girls will tease her and love on her and she will giggle, as she always does. She will boss Darian around and Darian will quietly do her bidding, a smile on her face. And we will all try to keep things light and carefree, letting her lead the way with whatever she chooses to talk about. And before we know it, those three days will come to a close and she will get in the car with the girls, waving goodbye with a smile on her face as they drive her to Fred's on their way back to Southern.

There are so many wonderful things about hitting your 40's. I have so much more confidence than I've ever had in my life. I know what I want now and I'm eager to accomplish some goals that I've put on hold all these years as I've raised my family. I have a good marriage and kids I adore. I have a comfortable home and many blessings to call my own. But one thing I definitely don't appreciate at this stage of life is the cycle of life. Because, of course, as we hit our 40's and 50's, our parents hit their 80's. And life becomes fragile. It's new territory for me and, frankly, I don't appreciate it much.

Everybody has stories that are so uniquely their own and yet we all experience them. It's like when you have a baby and it takes its first steps. It's so exciting and wonderful and it's as if your baby is the only baby in the world who has ever taken steps before. We celebrate and clap and are so excited for the accomplishment. But it's that way throughout our lives--these milestones that we all experience and yet...it's as though we are the only ones when we go through it: the first date, the first kiss, our wedding, our first baby, our first home...

But then there are those milestones that we all experience that aren't exactly joyful..and yet we all have them in common. Losing a parent is right up there on that list. It's tragic and heartrending. And yet...it is a celebration in its own rite. It's a celebration of a life well-lived. It's a celebration of honoring a person who is your greatest fan  because, truly, who else loves you like a mom. No matter what, when you have a mom around, you're always okay. Mom has your back. Mom thinks you're a winner even when you aren't.

And so, we will keep looking forward, keep moving ahead day by day. We will pick Madeline up from the airport on Thursday and we will spend our time letting her know how very much we love her; how very much we appreciate her sacrifices and generosity. We will make her three days with us meaningful and joyful and we will do our best to surround her with love and kindness and acceptance.

We will spend three days celebrating a life well-lived.