She was there, in videos, pictures, items she had sewn, knitted, crocheted. She was there in stories people told: Jonathan's trip to Santa's Village, the dress she gave Kathy, shutting down a rude person at Book Club.
She was there in the memories my dear friend Jess and his mom LaVerne reminded me of; in Jim & Michaelle's memories of Grandma; and Dave's story of being her "favorite Son-in-Law".
She was there in Pam's memory of being treated like family, and Johanna's memory of everything Mom did.
I know I sound like a CD set on Repeat, but dammit, listen to me:
- If you love someone, tell them.
- If you think you can't live without them, you can. But you won't like it.
- If you miss them, tell them.
- If you want to know what happened way back when, ask, before it's too late.
But certain things will live on, no matter what else happens. My Mom was an agnostic, but an optomist. And she loved music, of virtually any style.
And while she specifically asked not to be remembered with such corny prose as "being in the arms of Jesus", she would have no problem with:
I'll fly away, Oh Glory
I'll fly away; (in the morning)
When I die, Hallelujah, by and by,
I'll fly away (I'll fly away).
Oh, and Vote No on Prop 8. Or Ruthie will haunt your ass. And it won't be pretty.
You've been warned.