Celebrations of Passing

Let me tell you a story.

I was born and raised in New England during the seventies.  We were part of the new nuclear family set, with some slight lingering effects of the previous generations influences.  Dad worked, Mom took care of the house and the two kids.  A matched set, girl and boy (I was the boy).  In the naive freedom of that time, at an early age my sister and I were allowed the space to explore our surroundings unencumbered by the worry that we may end up on a milk carton.

Now, I grew up on the ideals and influence of "The Brady Bunch" and "The Partridge Family" to name a few, and became fleetingly aware of a certain disparity between the life I knew and that which I saw there.  The sense of a close knit family.  Please don't misconstrued my meaning, I knew I was loved but there was little cohesion to us as a "family". This was also true of my extended family.  When I was younger we would have the occasional visits from aunts and uncles, grandparents, and every thanksgiving we made the hour long trip to my mothers parents for a meal, then I would nap on the sofa while they watched the game.  Even there existed a certain tense, stoic detachment.  They would spend a few hours updating each other on their goings on (long before Facebook or e-mail).  My sister and I trying not to touch my grandmothers "Hummel" collection (it was VAST).  Then after a few hours, my dad would stand up, stretch and announce to my mother it was time to go. We had a "drive" home.  And that would be it until my grandparents prerequisite drive to our house the weekend before Christmas, which would be equally brief.    I never knew the benefit of extended family, I hardly knew my cousins, or their families, to the point of not always getting their names straight!

 Funny story; when I was 23 and recently separated from my first wife and before meeting my TRUE soul mate my mother and sister insisted I attend a family reunion at my Aunts place in Vermont.  While there, I had to cling to my Mother as, sadly..."I didn't know anyone there!"  Like an assistant at a State Dinner she would whisper in my ear as a new face would approach "this is your cousin..., this is your great uncles roommate twice removed...."  she kept me from looking the complete fool.  At a lull, while we stood by the porch railing of their gorgeous estate I looked out towards the surrounding wood's bordering an expansive, rolling lawn and saw a group of young people, perhaps a couple of years younger then I walking back towards the house.  Amongst them was a very lovely young lady, and I became keenly aware that perhaps coming to this shin dig might not have been a bad idea.  As they approached our small group my aunt Mary, apparently noticing the interested glint in my eye, grinned as she looked at the lovely young creature, then at me and said with a certain amount of flourish "and this (putting her arm around her and presenting her to me) is your cousin Zoey"

Ouch!

I felt positively redneck!

Now, before you feel sorry for me (or admonish me for not making a greater attempt at connecting with my family) I am not sorry for my upbringing. Not in the least.  I do not hold any malice or contempt for my parents.  They instilled in me a STRONG sense of self reliance, a good work ethic and independence.  I was allowed to discover myself instead of having someone tell me who I was going to be.  And I love them very deeply for that. 

More importantly, that nagging sense of "missing" led me to the strong conviction that someday I would have the LARGE close knit family I never knew I craved. 

OK, I know that was all a somewhat long winded, narcissistic preamble to the following, but I wanted you to understand where my mind set was at when you read the following.

Yesterday was Angi and my thirteenth wedding anniversary.  We'd planned an evening out of dinner and a stroll through our favorite part of Florida, downtown Dunedin.  About a little after three in the afternoon, however I got a call from my Dad.  He and my stepmother were in Florida, having driven three days to get here, after hearing that my grandmother was "not doing well".  I absorbed the information, and in truth, took it in stride.  I wonder what that says about me.  My approach to death, while not welcoming it, is excepting of it.  Now, I have been lucky enough, through the benefit of e-mails, been kept apprised of her situation.  She was 99 years old, and for the last two or more years had been in 24 hour hospice care.  By her own admission, she was "ready".  Her passing, I'm sure was a relief for her.  And she did have the blessings of living a very full life!  She had visited almost, if not all, countries on the Earth, a few times over at least.  And I am thankful that for her sake Angi and I  were able to provide a legacy.  I am the only male of my generation, therefore the sole progenitor of the family name.  An obligation I most willingly fulfilled.  In spades!

Not surprisingly, though Angi didn't take it as well.  Not that I was going to mention it until later, but when I arrived home she knew something was wrong.  There is NO hiding anything from her. She has come from a much more close knit family circle and had grown very fond of my grandmother.   When I let her know she suggested that we post pone our evening.  I saw no reason.  If nothing else, the possibility of someone passing solidifies ones resolve that time is short, enjoy each moment you can. 

That evening, as we were coming home, we got the call from my Dad.  She passed a little after nine last night.  I can not feel remorse, only peace.  She is now where she wanted to be for some time.

Rest well.  We all love you.