“I love your blog”

and then something about Me being Kind.

I have spent not more than three hours with this person, my cousin, in the whole of my adult  life.  I know little about her other than

she is nice.

She lives far away and I have not ever lived near her.

When I last saw her

she was welcoming me into her mother’s home

An ambulance was on it’s way.  The last ride her mother would ever take, was to a place she would never leave.  This girl, the cousin of mine was, along with her precious sister, doing what loving daughters do when their mother is dying.

They were living and doing what needed to be done, when they wanted it to be different.

They smiled when the tears were close

they welcomed me into their pain.  You get to know people when they are suffering.  Defenses are down and putting on a brave face is not worth the effort.

I was a cousin, come in the place of another who would have been there, had she been able.

This dying woman was the sister of my mother.

They were both Nano, just as their mother before them had been.  Just as this cousin is and hopefully I will be some day.

This woman, aunt of mine, sister of my mother, mother to these cousins, was not part of my life.  My mother and her sister were different from each other.  They had come from the same seed yet planted in different places.  They chose lives that did not intersect and lived far from one another.  My aunt

Marj

lived between my house and our cottage.  Sometimes when I was driving by I would stop for a quick visit.  Not a lot to talk about,

but blood runs deep.  Family ties are real even when we don’t see them.  When my mother came to visit, we would take a few hours and go to Aunt Marj’s house for lunch,  to connect.

Oh how my mom loved her sister.  Different people on different journeys and yet, sisters, bound by memories of

Then.

She got sick, this aunt.

And then we all knew her life would end sooner than she had hoped.  That’s when the family ties began to tighten.  My mom would call and ask me to please pop in for a visit.  She so wanted to be there but of course, when you are 90 and live 2000 miles away, being there and helping is not possible.

So I did.  Pop in.  Not often.  Not nearly often enough.

Three things I remember clearly about those last days and visiting that aunt of mine.  Those things are these

Just a few weeks before she was whisked away by ambulance, I sat next to her on her couch.  She looked at me and said

“tell your mom not to worry.  I’m ok”.  Well we knew of course, that she was not at all ok.  I said the first thing that came to mind and that was this

“Aunt Marj, mom is at this point, less concerned about your body and very much concerned about your soul.  She wants to see you again someday.”

“I know”,  she said.

And that was that!

The next thing I remember was the day before the ambulance drove to that house.

I called and it was evening and she was weak and she was sick and I could hear it.  She had not been eating and I asked her if there was anything at all I could bring for her to eat.  Being who I am and in fact, my mother’s daughter, we think of food when we want to comfort someone.  Food is good.  Food bridges chasms.  I have seen it happen.

And then, there it was, unexpected and

I was surprised.

“Raspberry Pie.  I haven’t had Raspberry pie in such a long time and it would taste so good right now”.

And without a gap of a second, my reply

“I will have one there first thing tomorrow morning”

and I went to the store and bought raspberries and it wasn’t raspberry season but they were there, in plain view and I took them home and put them in the fridge and mixed up the pastry and got it ready and first thing in the morning I went to the kitchen and mixed up those berries and rolled out that pastry and put them together and baked them and took that pie and drove to that town,

north

and the pie was still warm and I knocked on the door

and those girls, those cousins I didn’t know, but for a few brief chats, opened the door and let me in and quietly told me the day had come

and she was leaving this house.  The house she had lived in almost forever.

But first, we brought that offering and cut it into pieces and took it to the place where she was resting, on the couch and it smelled so good and we sat together and we ate

pie.

Someone was dying and those daughters felt like weeping and they were tired and I hardly knew them and we ate pie together.  Their mother, my aunt, with help, ate maybe, I don’t know,

two bites and she loved it and that was all.

I went to see her in that place where people go before they die, where they are cared for lovingly and their families come and go whenever they wish and it’s quiet and there is laughter and people are sad and wish it was different and long for the past and just want it to be

over.

One of the times I went, I learned a bit more about that cousin.  The people working in the place were all whispering and chatting and they told me that Marjorie’s daughter had made ham and scalloped potatoes and vegetables and had brought that feast and even though her mother was past the point of eating and was waiting and they were all waiting,

they had eaten and there was so much that it was too much and it was delicious

and who does that when her mother is dying?  Makes a feast for people who can see the sadness all around and although they can do nothing about it, they do their job and they are kind.

Well that girl, woman, cousin of mine was, in the midst of her pain, aware of the needs of others and I thought about the selfless act of kindness and

I understood a bit better, who that girl, woman, cousin was and is.

She is kindred.  She is blood and even though I don’t know when I will get to see her again,

I like her and I’m glad I’m related to her.  I wonder, when I next find myself mourning the imminent loss of someone I love, will I be so gracious, so selfless, so

kind?

I went and I sat next to my aunt and she was quiet and she knew and I knew that the end was coming and one more time I said

“Auntie Marj, I must say this, while there is still time.  My mom wishes she could be here with you and she would say it but she can’t so I will say it.  We want you to go to be with Jesus and the only way for that to happen is if you recognize that sin has separated every one of us from Him.   He loves you and died for you.  He has paid the penalty for your sin and mine.  He loves you.  You are suffering and sick and He loves you.”

“Oh how we want to see you someday, when we get to Heaven.”

And with her Bible beside her, the one she asked her daughter to bring so she would have it close, she said with her eyes on mine

“You will”

And that was that.  The last time I saw her.

Funny how little things can jump start memories.

I make aprons and cook and write these stories and have been reminded this week

it’s entirely likely  I spend too much time doing and not enough time

sitting, resting, listening.  It’s on my agenda, to do more of that.

Today though,

I thought of those days, spent with people I don’t know but they have impacted my life.  I thought of that extended part of my family and then you know what I did?

I made pie

I made Raspberry pie.  Actually I didn’t have enough raspberries so I added a few blueberries.  It isn’t exactly the same as the one I took to those ladies

one dying and two mourning.

But I remembered and I felt like eating pie.