Death comes in threes....

Just a silly old wives' tale, right??

Elaine.

Mom.

Marsha.

All in three weeks.

It was the first thing that went through my mind when I found out that Marsha had died..."Death comes in threes." 

Each one has affected me differently, and yet, together, they bind together to form one, unmistakeable feeling:  when our time comes, what will be left behind of our lives?

Elaine's death left me calm, serene, and happy for the end of her suffering.  She'd been in a lot of pain for many, many years, and at last her body could feel "normal."  As I stood beside her, I stroked those arthritic hands and felt peace.  Her old body was not her captive any longer.  She was free. Her burial site is on a quiet little slope near the baby she lost so many years ago.  She had come full circle.

Mom was laid to rest in a plot that she and dad had chosen in the 70s.  Arrangements had been made and her desires made very clear, and all that was left to do was honor her life in the best way we could.  Orange tulips were everywhere; in case you don't know, Mom was Dutch, and orange is the national color of Holland.  Tulips - well, no need to explain that symbol.  In the fellowship room where we were served lunch and greeted visitors, her wooden shoes, needlework, pictures, and the Christmas stockings she made each and every family member were on display.  It was one of the most personal funerals I've ever been to, and while I agree with Andy that she would not have liked all the attention, it was perfect. 

     I had a chance to say all the things I wanted to say to her 3 years ago, when the big fall took away the Mom we all knew, so I was good.  Nothing left unsaid,
no regrets. 

No so with Marsha.  Families come with a lot of history, and mine with Marsha was a work in progress.  I was 9 when she was born, and she was my own living baby doll.  She was a blond, blue-eyed pixie, where I was a brown haired, brown eyed statue in height.  She was Mama, I was Daddy.  She was still a little girl when I went to college, and that gap in our ages came back to haunt us as adults. 

   I have unsaid things I should have told her.  I will deal with those in my own time and way.  The past few months have left me with good memories of our phone calls, so that gives me comfort.  I will do what I can to honor her, just as I did Mama and Daddy. 

Enough of death.  Enough of grieving.  Enough of dwelling on the "what-ifs" of life and pain. 

Now, it is time to make the most of the days.  To make sure that every person that I love knows it and feels it to their core.  To honor them while they are alive instead of after the phone call comes in the night. 

Hopefully, with Marsha's passing, death can take a break for a while.

I'm exhausted.