Celebrate a life. Prepare for death. But celebrate life.
Too many times I celebrate me, or things, or achievements, and I forget to celebrate life. I get all bogged down in life’s distractions and details and I forget to celebrate life. About a month before she died, Sheila told me "Barb, I just don't want a big formal mass like your dad had, with everyone all awkward and sad and crying and all quiet. I want everyone to be together, to remember me and your dad, to be joyful. I want it to be a beautiful, happy occasion. We have had way too many sad moments over the past couple of years". And that is why we’re all here. To celebrate a life well lived, to rejoice in our sadness and loss because it means we loved deeply. And perhaps, hopefully, to stop and breathe and celebrate this gift of life our God has bestowed on us.
About a month after my dad died, Sheila finally acknowledged she was really, truly sick, and had been for some time. Over the next five months, I spent a lot of time with her, nearly weekly in person, and at least twice a day on the phone. I was there with her when she got the awful diagnosis of cancer, and held her hand as the doctor told her "if you do nothing, you have 3-6 months to live." He was wrong. She’d already lived her life. Fully and without reservation. Now, she had the chance to prepare for the end of her life--he was just too much of a coward to say it. He knew it. I knew it. And I know now that Sheila knew it. For the next 12 weeks Sheila and I handled minuscule details and talked about the past, and how much we missed Dad. And although she was frightened, and in a lot of pain, and trying to hold onto life, in actuallity she was relieved and looking forward to being with her husband again. We would go out for dinner and margaritas and not even think about calories, and we would eat ice cream for lunch and consume an entire box of chocolate covered cherries while we watched Pawn Stars or Animal Planet. We would cry, and laugh, and get angry, and fret, but all along, we both know what was coming. We spoke about God and family and forgiveness and heaven and sins and holiness and if we would be found wanting when it was our time to be judged. All facades and silly trappings fell away, and if I brought up anything about past hurts or misunderstandings, she'd bluntly tell me, in her own straightforward way, "Bullshit. Let it go." I think that pretty much sums up how she lived her life for 78 years. Letting all the trivial stuff go.
About a month after my dad died, Sheila finally acknowledged she was really, truly sick, and had been for some time. Over the next five months, I spent a lot of time with her, nearly weekly in person, and at least twice a day on the phone. I was there with her when she got the awful diagnosis of cancer, and held her hand as the doctor told her "if you do nothing, you have 3-6 months to live." He was wrong. She’d already lived her life. Fully and without reservation. Now, she had the chance to prepare for the end of her life--he was just too much of a coward to say it. He knew it. I knew it. And I know now that Sheila knew it. For the next 12 weeks Sheila and I handled minuscule details and talked about the past, and how much we missed Dad. And although she was frightened, and in a lot of pain, and trying to hold onto life, in actuallity she was relieved and looking forward to being with her husband again. We would go out for dinner and margaritas and not even think about calories, and we would eat ice cream for lunch and consume an entire box of chocolate covered cherries while we watched Pawn Stars or Animal Planet. We would cry, and laugh, and get angry, and fret, but all along, we both know what was coming. We spoke about God and family and forgiveness and heaven and sins and holiness and if we would be found wanting when it was our time to be judged. All facades and silly trappings fell away, and if I brought up anything about past hurts or misunderstandings, she'd bluntly tell me, in her own straightforward way, "Bullshit. Let it go." I think that pretty much sums up how she lived her life for 78 years. Letting all the trivial stuff go.
Sheila was quiet but had a way of getting your attention when it was important. She was the most honest person I've ever known, and would never compromise her beliefs or her values for expediency or popularity. And she loved with her entire being. She had a way of getting along with anyone and bringing out the best in people, and helping others see themselves how she saw them, and, more importantly, how they could grow. She married the love of her life, and never wavered in that love, and took on a ready-made family of five children without even a moment's hesitation. She was devoted to her mom, her siblings, and all of us, and she was the glue that held us all together. She saw through every crazy teenage lie I told her, and let me know that she knew the truth without saying a word, and without blowing my cover. She helped me through trials, rejoiced with me when I rejoiced, and was always there to offer common-sense advice about marriage, parenting, grand parenting, and life. Sheila was just the kind of mom who you wanted to please, who you wanted to make smile and laugh, and above all, the person you wanted in your corner for every step along the way. She loved all her step kids as if they were her own, and adored her grandchildren and later her great grandchildren, and she made all of us feel as if we were her "favorite." (Of course, everyone knows that I am THE favorite). She impacted our lives in so many ways. I’ll miss her always, and I’ll love her always. And I celebrate her life. Today. Tomorrow. Always. Till I can join her in eternity to celebrate eternal life
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