The bay below like a long life lay,
Shades of blue and gray.
The hills above are red and gold,
A story both new and old.
If this winter we forbear,
Life anew we’ll surely share.
…Carl Harmon
Earlier this year, my Aunt Marge passed away. While I had spoken with her on the phone more recently, the last time I saw her in person was at my mother’s funeral a few years prior. I remember talking with her, and she simply said, “This will probably be the last time I will see you.” We continued to chat but my mind stuck on her phrase, and how she said it with such a matter-of-fact tone. Aunt Marge had some health issues and I knew she was right. I can still see her sitting there saying that to me.
My husband and I went with Dad (who is my Aunt’s older brother) to her memorial service in upper Michigan in late October. I had never been there before and the fall colors were breathtaking. Their house is on a lake. The red and gold leaves and the blue bay of the lake set a tone for the weekend. Glorious.
There was (and still is) a lot to say about how I experienced that weekend. I did some catching up with cousins I hadn’t seen in years, some helping as we got ready for the service, some learning about things I never knew about my family. It was good to be there. The memories of what I remember about that side of my family- the Whelan side – were everywhere. There was a photo of my great grandmother that used to be on my grandmother’s bureau; a ship that my great granddaddy made and name for my Aunt, trinkets from places she visited; a beautiful memorial book that my cousin made about my Aunt filled with photos and memories. I know she would have really loved it. The book is a joyful reflection of her life as seen through her childrens’ and husband’s eyes.
At the luncheon that followed the service, my Uncle Carl recited parts of a poem that he thought shared the sentiments of that day, of this life and what waits for us beyond. I remember thinking that it was a beautiful thought. I followed exactly what he meant when he spoke. (His words at the service were a paraphrasing of the poem that is written at the top of this post.)
We gave Uncle Carl a ride back to his lake house after the lunch. On the way, he expressed regret that he didn’t recite the poem exactly word for word. He began to recite it in the car, and had it down pat. While my husband and I mentioned that we got what the sentiment was at the luncheon, he was disappointed that he didn’t find the exact words at that exact time.
I grabbed a pen from my purse and asked him to recite it again and as he did, I wrote down his words on the only piece of paper that I had – a Thank You card from the Memorial Service. The Thank You card had a photo of my Aunt on one side. The photo was taken on one of her and Uncle Carl’s first dates. He had written near the photo that it had been in his wallet for years. She was so young and pretty, it was easy to see why he kept it so close for so long. (Pictured here is the note card I wrote on that day with his poem scrawled on the top.)
That evening, Uncle Carl did get a chance to read it to us all, word for word, from what I had written down. (And that was a real accomplishment because my penmanship isn’t the greatest.)
I am glad that he got to share his beautiful poem that matched the season of the year and the season of life so well. It was as if his poem was written for this particular weekend.
I remember my Aunt as a down-to-earth woman with a ton of common sense. I always loved the way she didn’t mince words. She was kind too, as well as honest. While Aunt Marge was correct when noting at my mother’s funeral that it would be the last time I saw her – it wasn’t and won’t be the last time I remember and appreciate her.
I am thankful that I had a chance to be there in October when the trees were red and gold. I met some of my second cousins for the first time and found out that they are amazing – beautiful, talented, smart and funny. (It must run in the family.) I wished my children were there because I knew that they would have gotten along very well. I am also thankful for the memories of that weekend, for my cousins’ and Uncle’s hospitality, for hearing and feeling his poem, for catching up with cousins, for family. It’s a story new and old.
And I know I owe Debby and Laurie some sponge candy – don’t worry cousins! I have not forgotten! And it will be worth the wait…
Love, Patty