It has already been a year since I wrote of my grief and reactions at the death of my good friend. I had promised myself that I would review things at the first anniversary.
Il y a eu une consolidation énorme de cette peine et une réorganisation de ma vie qui me permettent de continuer. Il y a des moments quand j’aurais aimé avoir l’aide ou le conseil de Robert, mais son départ est ‘accepté’. À l’île du Prince Édouard, le tilleul planté à son nom a survécu un hiver très enneigé et semble fier d’occuper sa place.
It would be incorrect to conclude that all is as it was. No, indeed, his passing was sudden and far too soon. He will continue to be missed.
This July 9th marked the 65th anniversary of my parents wedding. Quite the feat it would have been. Except that my mom drifted home to her Maker on July 7th. She had enjoyed a full life until the last full years when Alzheimer’s debilitated her almost beyond recognition. Her death was truly a release for her and for those who loved her.
De voir diminuer de plus en plus un être cher est difficile. On ne peut rien faire pour arrêter le processus. Alors on doit accepter la personne devant nous, comme elle est. De la comparer à la personne qu’elle était n’est pas aidant. La consolation que je me donne est qu’elle n’était pas consciente de ce changement profond.
While she hadn’t used my name for 2 years, she did smile at times when I’d visit as if recognizing someone significant. That last time together she let me do a homemade manicure and accepted lots of cream and massage to her hands and fingers. As I did it, I thought of all that those hands had done for me over the years. I thanked her.
We never know which interaction or gesture will be our last with someone we hold dear. Wouldn’t it be great if they all could be positive and nourishing?
J’ai un nouvel arbre à l’île du Prince Édouard—un chêne rouge que j’ai planté près de l’avoine sur le terrain ou sa mère et les ancêtres MacCormack ont habité depuis les 1790’s.
These two living signposts will help me remember these two people who I have loved. Their presence on my land will speak to me often, not just on anniversaries, but on ordinary days. As time puts distance between their death and my grief, these trees will branch out and grow up to outlive me and serve as testimonies to the ensuing generations. That will be the heritage of Robert and Mommy, a Linden and a Red Oak, when I can no longer speak of their anniversaries.