March 29 – Today our drive is full of dark clouds, pouring
rain, and stop-and-go traffic. It’s long and tiring, so we spend time talking about
our experiences.
What a strange feeling, looking back over the two months
we’ve stayed here. We feel as though
we’ve been away much longer, because of all that we did, because of all that
happened.
Our house was constantly filled with visitors, which is what
we wanted and planned for when we found a rental. Three bedrooms, two
bathrooms, a nice open kitchen and dining area, our own small pool and lanai.
This house is lovely, with a great open plan and a bigger-than-average seating
area around the pool.
In the beginning, I didn’t want to
bother the property manager, Vera Gualano, but I learned later on that I should
have. Clearly, it means a lot to her to ensure the house is being maintained
properly. I would rent through her again with no hesitation.
Each visitor brings their own gifts of conversation,
excitement, love, and interests. Mike and Rita were in this area of Kissimmee
only last year, so they take us exploring. They fit us perfectly, like brothers and
sisters often do. Easy, comfortable, fun, generous and in our loss of Sahara,
so very consoling.
We're together when Mike and Rita's daughter, Laura, calls from Ontario. She's engaged to be married to a wonderful young man and we toast their love and happiness.
Kristen, John, Ben and Cate bring high spirits, energy,
laughter and fun. We play in the pool for hours, visit Universal Studios and
play cards at night. They spend fourteen hours at Disney one day! It’s pure joy
for me, every minute I can wake up and see their amazing faces.
I haven’t spent
this much time with my daughter’s partner. Now I appreciate and love him even
more. I cannot describe the feelings I have for this
daughter of mine, this strong beautiful talented amazing woman whom I still
remember as a little hand in mine.
It’s during my daughter and her family’s visit that we hear
about Rose. For a couple of years now, we must admit, we have grieved for her loss.
At ninety-five, Rose was no longer able to do all the things she loved such as
cook and garden. She was very often unable to communicate and this was a woman
who loved to tell stories, ask questions, give fiercely held opinions, offer
unsolicited advice.
Rosie was a huge presence. She ran her household with
gusto, was the original reduce, reuse, recycler. Her sauce and pasta were
unparalleled, along with her pizza, melting moments cookies, biscotti, apple or
lemon meringue pies, butter tarts, scrippelle…
When she had leftover pizza
dough, she’d roll it up, fry them and salt them, and presto! Long Johns to
munch! At special times of the year, such as Christmas, she made her own
Christmas cake, and at Easter, she made sweet, fruity bread. I remember her salads were always delicious
because most of the vegetables came from their garden, and the dressing she
made was perfect. Rose, along with assistance from her husbands and sons and
later, daughters-in-law and grandkids, was the consummate hostess, and she
loved having family around.
Although she was a woman of deep faith, Rose didn’t
take too long to accept me, even though I was half responsible for her son’s
marriage break up. Because he loved me, and she loved her son, she eventually
enfolded me in her circle. Nowadays, she sat mostly sleeping in her chair, often unable
to recognize people. She never forgot her sons, though, even if she couldn’t
retrieve their names. When Vince and I would visit, her eyes were often vacant
when she looked at me, but as she gazed upon him, a light would appear. She’d
rest her head on his shoulder and pat his belly, as though soothing her baby
boy.
Very often, we’d shed lots of tears when we left her, for
the loss of her quality of life. When she falls that day in February and breaks
her hip, we fervently pray that she'll go to sleep, go to where she can
play cards again, tend a garden, give a family dinner, run around on two strong
legs. On March 1, she does just that.
Vince books a flight home for Saturday afternoon, so I drive
him to the airport. It’s a hasty decision, one we somewhat regret later. When
he’s home in Canada, alone, feeling the effects of losing his mother, in a
house that’s torn apart for painting, his voice is tearful and sad. I wish then
that we had waited until Sunday, when I could have gone with him. My
sister Chris and her husband Dave arrive tonight and I have booked a flight and
back again for the funeral only. I feel as though I am in a bubble. Here I am,
enjoying the company of my beloved sister and brother-in-law, while Vince
grapples with grief. The first night, Dave and I drink a couple of bottles of
wine (okay, each), make a few drunk calls, sleep late the next day. Their friend Grant’s
son, Adam, comes to visit and we have a ball.
On Tuesday, I take a cab at 3
a.m. and get on a plane, wearing a sundress and my sister’s boots. Our friends
Mary Jo and Peter meet me at the airport. It’s surreal, getting to hug and kiss
them unexpectedly, and stepping over ice and snow. When Vince sees my face in
the doorway of the funeral home, he begins to cry. I wrap him in my arms and
kiss him, and he lets his sorrow flow. The day is a whirlwind of family,
friends, tears, laughter, funeral egg salad sandwiches, and memories. Our nephews
and Vince’s sons are pallbearers; our nieces do readings at the Mass. We are so
proud of our children. The grandkids add zest and innocence. Dylan speaks for
all of us as the casket is raised and inserted into the crypt: “Wow, that was
awesome,” he says and we all smile. Because it was awesome—the celebration of a
life well lived, Rosie’s long, loving legacy, the memories, the joys and
sorrows.
Suddenly we are back in Florida. We visit my cousin Wendy
and Dennis the next day, revel in their company, in the sunshine, marvel at the
dolphins, and of course eat and drink well. For the rest of Chris and Dave’s
stay, we laugh and swim and sun and talk. We talk about loss, we talk about
life and love.
After we reluctantly allow Chris and Dave to leave early Saturday morning,
we get ready for David, Rebecca, Sydney and Evan. Once again, the house is
filled with high spirits, laughter, playfulness, romps in the pool for hours.
They spend a whole day at Disney and excitedly describe every moment when they get
back.
When they leave, we are glad that our friends Helen and
Sandy and Maire and John are arriving, the Duplassies on Saturday and the
Kearns’s on Monday. Since we’ve been friends for over forty years, there is
complete and utter comfort and ease in their presence. We can be ourselves. We
enjoy the warm air, the pool, shouting at each other over cards, and going out
for dinner. We visit Winter Garden and Bok Tower Gardens. The four of them
spend three days in Bonita Springs, while we stay home with Monkey.
Then
suddenly there we were, on our last day, crying over Sahara, our faces looking toward home
and certain realities.
But the lilacs in Georgia are in full purple bloom and the
radio is playing our favorite songs. We start to sing. We feel very lucky, very
blessed, very grateful. Monkey meows in her pet carrier.
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