Goodbye, Memere

My Memere passed away on Saturday, March 29. On March 16 she had a bad fall and broke her hip and shoulder. She was 93, and her body just wasn't strong enough to recover. She passed peacefully, my dad and mom, and my aunt and uncle were all by her side.

Memere lived a long, good life. She took care of family members when they were ill. She survived and carried on even through losing two of her children, and she missed Pepere terribly... he died just over 12 years ago. She was a "working mom" long before the term was born. She took pride in her work: for 37 years she threaded the looms at a mill that made woolen cloth, following intricate instructions in order to create tartan plaids, houndstooth, and many other types of wool fabric. She loved to crochet: she made afghans for EVERYONE! She honored and respected her family, making detailed photo scrapbooks and written histories about our ancestors that are a real treasure for us. She loved St. Anthony. She loved her Catholic faith. I will miss her very much.

Arrangements were all in Western New Hampshire. We were ready, but I was nervous for LM. This was the first funeral services that he would be attending. What would he feel? How would he manage seeing the adults in his life crying?

We talked to him about it.... that we would dress up.... there would be lots of family there, a bunch of his cousins that he knows and loves, as well as family that he had never met before. That he would see Memere in the casket, and she would look like she was sleeping, but that she wasn't, that her soul had gone to be in heaven. That if he felt unsure, we would be right there, and he could tell us anything. That what was most important was to be respectful of all the ways people would be feeling.... people would be laughing, and crying. Many people would be speaking both English and French, and he should remember both his pleases and thank yous, and his "s'il vous plait," and "merci." Lots of people will want to shake your hand. It's ok to cry. It's ok to take a break in the other room with your cousins.

LM truly was a Little Man through those three days. He was still a 6-year-old, but I was proud of him. He was sweet and kind to me, especially when my tears were falling. He discovered that opening the car door for Mommy is a very gallant thing to do. No meltdowns, even though he had gone to bed too late. When we said The Lord's Prayer at her interrment at the cemetery, I looked down and saw him saying it too....

Memere raised her sons to be kind, generous, and courteous. My father and my uncle are all that and more. Saying goodbye to my grandmother was more than a funeral: it was a moment to reflect on just how all the bitty moments of motherhood add up... how they trickle down through the generations. By the end of her life, she was the matriarch to a large family, generations of descendents. All her hugs and kisses and loving patience, all her smiles and endearments, all the small and big moments are more than those moments alone. They are what we will remember, and they are what I will try every day to carry on, in her memory.