Easter, 2009.
On this day 65 years ago, my wife's mother was born.
On this day, or perhaps in the few hours left in this evening, her mother will likely pass on.
I said good bye to her today, and thanked her for who she is.
Physically, she appears a shadow of her former self.
But her true self, her depth and strength of character will live on forever, in her daughter, in her granddaughter, and in my daughter -- her great-granddaughter.
Who is she? I will only ever know a small fraction.
I first met her early on when Kirsten and I were dating. Should have been around 1994 or so. I fell in love with Kirsten and her family of course come along with the deal, and fortunately it was a pretty good deal. Kirsten's only living grandparents are her mother's parents. Oscar, her grandpa, was an engineer for Lockheed in the early days of Silicon Valley. Was long retired since I met him, and he loves to regale us with his stories of mystery and technology and oddities that made him our own personal Art Bell without the AM skip...
And Edna, her grandma, a stalwart, almost a from a storybook, lovable grandma who kept the family together, kept us well-fed and looked after when we came for a visit.
It was on purpose that we got married on the same day as her grandparents, their 55th anniversary, and made sure the DJ played "Blue Danube" for them... it was their day too.
I feel a pithy blog post just doesn't do the justice that deserves to be done for this woman... a woman married 67+ years to the same stubborn German farm boy from Minnesota, who raised 4 amazing kids, buried one before his time and endured an incredible lifetime of peaks and valleys with what I can only know through hearsay but with aplomb. She is the great oak of this family. She is the one whose face I saw first in my own daughter's impish smile, when she was hours old. She's just a few months short of her 90th birthday.
Last month we visited and took a four-generation portrait... Edna, Barbara, Kirsten, and Amalia. I see these women together and make no mistake as to where the legacy lies, my influence or contribution minimal or incidental in comparison, and I am humbled.
Last month we visited and Edna still seemed to be strong, fighting a metastasizing brain cancer admirably, only a few pounds lighter and only slightly disoriented. So amazing, so at peace with her fate, she spends more energy consoling her family than accepting their pity.
But today she is fading. A long slow fade. I saw her as a shadow, I saw her as an almost life-like caricature of who she was... it is too hard to believe that this sickly visage was once the corporeal temple of this great woman. In spite of all this of course we know this takes absolutely nothing away from who she is. Who she will always be.
They are by her side now, saying their last good byes. And like the others who have gone before us who we have loved, she'll be with us forever.
I'll see her as as I see myself, and my wife, in my own daughter's face, every day.
Good night Edna. Happy Easter.
On this day 65 years ago, my wife's mother was born.
On this day, or perhaps in the few hours left in this evening, her mother will likely pass on.
I said good bye to her today, and thanked her for who she is.
Physically, she appears a shadow of her former self.
But her true self, her depth and strength of character will live on forever, in her daughter, in her granddaughter, and in my daughter -- her great-granddaughter.
Who is she? I will only ever know a small fraction.
I first met her early on when Kirsten and I were dating. Should have been around 1994 or so. I fell in love with Kirsten and her family of course come along with the deal, and fortunately it was a pretty good deal. Kirsten's only living grandparents are her mother's parents. Oscar, her grandpa, was an engineer for Lockheed in the early days of Silicon Valley. Was long retired since I met him, and he loves to regale us with his stories of mystery and technology and oddities that made him our own personal Art Bell without the AM skip...
And Edna, her grandma, a stalwart, almost a from a storybook, lovable grandma who kept the family together, kept us well-fed and looked after when we came for a visit.
It was on purpose that we got married on the same day as her grandparents, their 55th anniversary, and made sure the DJ played "Blue Danube" for them... it was their day too.
I feel a pithy blog post just doesn't do the justice that deserves to be done for this woman... a woman married 67+ years to the same stubborn German farm boy from Minnesota, who raised 4 amazing kids, buried one before his time and endured an incredible lifetime of peaks and valleys with what I can only know through hearsay but with aplomb. She is the great oak of this family. She is the one whose face I saw first in my own daughter's impish smile, when she was hours old. She's just a few months short of her 90th birthday.
Last month we visited and took a four-generation portrait... Edna, Barbara, Kirsten, and Amalia. I see these women together and make no mistake as to where the legacy lies, my influence or contribution minimal or incidental in comparison, and I am humbled.
Last month we visited and Edna still seemed to be strong, fighting a metastasizing brain cancer admirably, only a few pounds lighter and only slightly disoriented. So amazing, so at peace with her fate, she spends more energy consoling her family than accepting their pity.
But today she is fading. A long slow fade. I saw her as a shadow, I saw her as an almost life-like caricature of who she was... it is too hard to believe that this sickly visage was once the corporeal temple of this great woman. In spite of all this of course we know this takes absolutely nothing away from who she is. Who she will always be.
They are by her side now, saying their last good byes. And like the others who have gone before us who we have loved, she'll be with us forever.
I'll see her as as I see myself, and my wife, in my own daughter's face, every day.
Good night Edna. Happy Easter.
