In Loving Memory

What are we supposed to do?   How do we honor our sister's memory?  Should we spend it alone in quiet reflection?  Do we gather beside her grave, facing a stone that is only a representation of where we layed our sister's ashes to rest?  For some, that is healing, but for me, I see her in more places than at any grave site.  Should we hover around Frank and the kids, lending our support?  Do we celebrate her life beyond this one or celebrate the life she lived here?  Is there some sort of ceremony we should perform, some ritual which will honor my baby sister?  Perhaps we should do what we enjoy most and feel her loving presence while doing it.  In loving memory, what do we do?  This first year, as we all asked ourselves these questions, emailed each other or thought of these questions in our minds, the  simple answer is this:  none of us knows exactly what to do, and there isn't really a blueprint for this one.  For myself, I said that  I would go with my gut, perhaps bake some cookies, as this is what Chrissy enjoyed during the Christmas season.  She herself never liked to bake, but she loved to eat my baked goods!  I loved the sounds she made as she ate each one.  It is definitely healing to my soul thinking of all the yummy sounds she made or hearing the "oooohs and ahhhhs" as she studied each one so carefully daring to ask for one more.  On this day, I would follow my heart knowing that she was right there beside me.  We all waited and worried about Frank's needs while the kids went their way with Aunt Pam.  What should we do for Frank?  As we all felt and feel the deep sadness for our loss, none of us really knew where we wanted to be.  Is there a right way?  I suppose each of has to find our own way; deciding how to make it through this time.

This day was another mile marker in the journey of our grief, coming to grips with the impact of her death.  I cannot say that I have accepted it. I don't know if I ever will.  I still feel the same pain today as I have since the day she died; however; some pivotal moments can wrench my inner gut even more, as though someone reaches in and is literally tugging at my heart.  Is this my sister's way of saying she is still with me?  Maybe that goes beyond what IS.  I don't know.  Certain days, the tears can flow so much that my eyes swell.  Other days, I smile thinking of something she would have said or done that would make me laugh.  Some days I have those anxious moments awaiting her birthday or the first day back to school for her kids, her wedding anniversary, Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas and all the other days inbetween.  On this day, I remembered many things about my sister during the holidays.  She would plan her Christmas list for the kids, decorate the house, hunt down a special appetizer to share with the family.  Now, our precious Maria steps in to be the little mother as she organizes and decorates the house along with Frank as my sister used to do.  On this day, I thought of all the special notes, gifts, phone calls and emails that were sent to me, and I want to thank all of you.  I may not respond, but I am so grateful.  These days leading up to the anniversary of her death, I've thought of all our family Christmas traditions of riding in the car with dad when we were kids, looking at all the lights on Christmas Eve then coming home to mom saying, "Santa was here.....Santa was here!"  Surprise presents were sprawled under the tree as we broke our way through the closed doors to the livingroom.  Some presents bringing laughter while others shedding tears.  Special notes left on the Christmas tree left by Santa and watching mom, always in a hurry trying to prepare everything to perfection....smelling her perfume and the glow on her face.  These were some of my thoughts this day.  As we grew into adults, playing all the family games, dancing to music, enjoying our indulgences from all the cocktails to rich foods to the sweets.  Spending time with family and neighbors, laughing until we cried.  All of these lovely memories came to mind, thinking of Chrissy, and all our great times.

During this week, I've also thought of the painful times leading up to her last days, watching her with her children as they revisted some of those traditions of looking at Christmas lights. Thinking of some of our last conversations, assuring her that her children would get through this, the family would make it happen.  I listened to Maria in the car with my Faith as she talked of her mommy seeing the light that people see when their bodies die, and their spirits going to this special place where they will be happy forever.  Yes, we talk of these things.  Along with the talk of silly bodily functions, toes stuck together on Aunt Barbie's foot and special friends, we talk of life after death.  It all seems surreal, but we talk of these things.

On this day, my son, Eric, who is an old soul in a young body (he always has been) gave me a card.  One of his comments was to say that "Losing Aunt Chrissy was undoubtedly the saddest experience this family has ever had......"   Then he goes on to say, "But just remember that she is here in all the things that we are doing."  He gives specific examples of where she is with me and he says that she is right  here beside me all the time, especially when I bake my chocolate chip cookies!"  He continues to write,  "We will see her again, mom."  Again, how proud I am of all my children and so very proud and grateful for the son who gives me reassurance.  My little girl, Faith, had a fundraising hat day for the Leukemia/Lymphoma Society this week.  The students are asked to bring in 50 cents to support the cause or more if they are able.  My daughter insisted on giving all $16.00 from her piggy bank for the cause.  I told her she didn't have to clean out her piggy bank; that I would donate to the cause, too.  She insisted on giving it all because her Aunt Chrissy had cancer, and someone needs to find a cure.  My son, Luke,  asks about photos hanging in our home.  They are his grandparents, and I tell him that they are in heaven with Aunt Chrissy, and he smiles.  In loving memory, they are making their way, too.

The cookie baking went on as planned, but I still worried about Frank, and where he was in all this. We talked through the week, and as I mentioned, none of us knew what to do.  He wasn't sure of what he wanted to do.....be alone in his grief.....gather?  On one hand you feel this sense of wanting to grieve alone and another part of you wants to gather and somehow support one another.  So, I had it in my mind that my family would  eat some of Chrissy's favorite foods, and one of her favorite places was Cusamano's Restaurant, which used to be in Glasgow Village where we grew up.  Times have changed, but this good old favorite restaurant was relocated to St. Charles, where I think the new owners are the children of the previous owner.  So there my husband traveled as I called in the order.  We weren't in the mood to dine out, but take out is was.  I called Susie to see if she wanted to come down to my house, as she only lives a couple blocks away, only to find out that Cassie had made her way from the north side.  I told them I left a message for Frank, not sure if he would respond.  We understood if he didn't; he would make his way, whatever that way was to get him through.  He did call back, and we found our way over at the Corrao house.  Never knowing where this day would lead me, but there we were.  I left my kids with a picnic blanket and a pizza of their own to enjoy with a movie and their own set of rules, Eric in charge of course, or so he thought.  There are no guidelines for what to say or how to be, but my sister traveled with me in the heart as we made our way over there.  I didn't know what this day might bring, but the night was shared with pizza and some laughs as our little Lucy rambled about the house, giggling and saying the cutest things.  She is our little joyful gift, that Lucy girl.   We toasted to Chrissy before we ate some of her favorites: Cusamano's Special Pizza, toasted ravioli and salad with oil and vinegar.  Although I remember it a bit differently; it never tasted so good as I felt her there with each bite.  We wrapped some Christmas gifts and said our farewells. The awkwardness of not knowing what to do this day had become a bittersweet memory as we made our way.  No doubt our hearts are still so heavy, but we made our way in loving memory.

Weeping may linger for the night, but joy comes with the morning.  

- Psalm 30