Yesterday was the funeral of Dave's aunt, Susan. There had been some friction between her and Dave's Mom over the years — a grudge that Dave held onto far longer than his mother did — but as I have long said, Susan was always very kind to me and I truly enjoyed the time we spent together as a large, extended family (even if those get-togethers haven't happened since the passing of Dave's parents, five years ago now).
We heard that Susan was in long-term care, and after a brief stay in hospital, she was returned to Sunnyside, and within a day of her return, had become unresponsive. I asked Dave if he thought we should go visit, and after some hemming and hawing, he agreed; not for Susan's sake but as a gesture of support for his cousins. So last Thursday we made our way over after dinner and I am so glad that we did: the cousins, Shannon and Jeff, met us outside and sort of collapsed into our arms for hugs, crying with gratitude and exhaustion. The two of them had been sitting vigil since Sunday, not sleeping very well in the room's cot or chair; both of them afraid to leave for even a shower lest their mother be alone at her time of passing.
We went up to Susan's room and could see that she was obviously near her end. We sat together for a few hours, telling stories and sharing laughs, and Jeff and Shannon said that they could tell that Susan could hear us and was enjoying herself. The most remarkable story they told us was that on Monday — nearly a day after Susan had become unresponsive — she suddenly blurted out, "Bev! Bev! Wait! Beverley, wait for me! Bev!" And those would be Susan's last words: a plea for her big sister to wait for her, as would have been her plea when they were growing up. Being five years apart in age, my mother-in-law always said that she hated it when their mom would make her bring Susan along when she was meeting up with friends. So in the present, we sat there and marvelled at the idea that Bev was probably waiting just out of reach of the bed-bound Susan, telling her that it wasn't quite time for her to tag along yet.
Many more stories were told that evening, we had a teary hug good-bye — reminding the cousins that we are all family and we're here for them for whatever they need — and Susan passed just a few hours later. And, of course, we were grateful to have been able to make our visit in time, and especially for Jeff and Shannon's sakes.
The next couple of day saw Shannon texting Dave quite a bit — she needed info on the family plot at the cemetery and the funeral home needed information on their grandparents (for some reason) that Dave was able to get for them — and eventually Jeff texted to ask if Dave could be a pallbearer. Of course, he replied. And then on Sunday night, Shannon texted to ask if Dave could do Susan's eulogy. And although that was more of a minefield for a nephew who didn't really like his aunt, Dave agreed to do that, too.
Dave stayed late at the office Monday night writing bullet points for his eulogy — relying heavily on the stories Shannon and Jeff had shared with us the week before, making much of the obvious devotion Susan had inspired in her children — and while, after reading his notes, I agreed that he didn't know much more about his aunt than he had included, I had trouble sleeping that night, reworking the script in my mind. As I always get up so much earlier than Dave, I had time to type out an alternate eulogy — one that made a point of naming each of Susan's six grandchildren, made a point of acknowledging the love and care she had received from her husband, and one that made a cohesive narrative out of the handful of anecdotes — and Dave agreed to add the changes. And since Kennedy came to our house before we all left for the funeral together, she also helped to smooth out a few bits and make valuable suggestions as her Dad practised reading it aloud.
There was quite a large crowd at the funeral home and we enjoyed getting to see the rest of the family, and especially the children who are all now teenagers. The minister gave a lovely eulogy of her own — I don't know if she actually knew Susan (or was just the funeral home's incredibly compassionate resident chaplain), but she had obviously had a meeting with Shannon and Jeff, had really listened to what they had to say about their Mom, and was able to make a beautiful narrative about Susan's life. Dave was called up for his eulogy, and of course he absolutely crushed it. People laughed and cried — I looked over at Rudy after Dave told the "Wait for me, Bev" bit and she was bawling (just like she did when we told her about it on the phone on the way home from visiting Susan).
We had a nice visit over the luncheon sitting with Susan and Bev's cousins, and when it was time for the interment, only family made its way to the cemetery forty-five minutes away. There was a lovely bit of ceremony at the graveside — I especially liked that everyone was encouraged to place flowers in the handles of the casket so that Susan could be "buried in a flower garden" as she was lowered into the ground — and looking around at this gathering of red-eyed, grieving family, it was obvious that no matter what friction there ever was between Bev and her little sister, Susan had spent her time as a mother, wife, and grandmother intensely loving these people; Susan is a woman who was loved and honoured and who will be sorely missed. (I asked permission from Shannon to take a few carnations for Bev's adjacent grave, too; she is also sorely missed and Shannon was happy to share.)
Again: I am grateful that Dave and I were able to visit Susan (and Shannon and Jeff) before her passing, and doubly so because it gave Dave the material for a touching and appropriate eulogy. You never regret the time you spend showing up for others, and before we left the cemetery, there were many vows made that we will all spend more time together going forward. And I hope that we do: Susan would have wanted it; Bev would have wanted it; these are incredibly nice people and I am happy to count them as members of my family. Rest in Peace, Susan; you've earned it.
