It’s
now a week since I received the news that my cousin, Little Fanny
Tinklebalm, was diagnosed with cancer and was moving in with her
daughter, Sandy. A lot can change in a brief week. I received a call
from Ricky’s daughter, Heather, telling me that Barrie had passed.
It was such a short time. It makes me wonder how sick she was, as she
never mentioned anything regarding her personal health in our nearly
monthly telephone visits.
I
have spent this week in reflection trying to remember the many times
that Barrie touched my life. When her mother, Betty (call me Liz)
passed. The family had a service out west where many of the clan had
moved. There was a small service at Valley Forge for us right
coasters that was attended by her brother and sister and assorted
relatives and friends. The service was very unsatisfactory, at best,
although the site was indeed beautiful. After the service when I was
driving my mother back from PA, we slipped the cassette that Barrie
had sent to us in the car’s tape player. It was a tape of Betty’s
Left Coast service. In it, Barrie talked about her mother mentioning
how she called Rick and her, Ricky Ticky Tavie, and Little Fanny
Tinklebalm. She related many stories about her parents but especially
her mother. Betty was a known in Wayne, perhaps a celebrity. She
could be seen regularly driving her green 1963 Chevrolet Impala
convertible up and down Lancaster Pike, at Saint David’s Golf
course, Martin’s Dam and of course speaking loudly while climbing
the steps to the Library. My mother just sighed and said, “Finally,
now this feels like the service I needed to hear for my sister.
One
Easter back in the nineties, Ricky and Sherene were visiting us in
Naples. Mother had some old 8mm films she wanted to show and one was
left by Ricky’s father many years before. I set up the projector
and screen in the living room and there on the silver screen was a
movie of Barrie, getting out of her 65 Chevrolet Malibu convertible,
bright metallic blue, in a form fitting matching blue dress. My god,
what a stunner. She so reminded me of Marilyn Monroe. I, of course,
had always remember Barrie as a high school athlete, stocky and
strong, but not a beauty by any means. Now there she was, having
remade herself in her mid-twenties, newly married and looking fine.
Ricky took the movie back west with him and I have never seen it
again. I only hope that he has shared it with all of you on the left
coast.
Another
time, I was visiting a friend over on Squam Lake in “Ashcan,” New
Hampshire. My mother drove over from Naples with Barrie who was
visiting. We toured the area bring back memories when Butch and Bree,
our grandparents, had a cottage on Squam. We even stopped at the
statue of the girl screwing the Swan (I’m not making this stuff
up!) and had lunch at an inn across the street. On our way back to
Naples, we were caught up in traffic just south of Conway and Barrie
jumped out of the backseat and started jogging alongside the car as
we moved slowly toward Conway. Ever the athlete, Barrie seems to be
comfortable in almost any spot.
Mother
was out west visiting Uncle Dick and Barrie in CA. Barrie was
sleeping on the floor and Mother insisted that they go out and buy
her a bed. Barrie was willing to sleep on the floor in the care of
her Father. I suspect that she was the same with her immediate
family, ever generous to them helping them along in life and never
worrying about herself.
In
recent years while I too have been battling the dreaded killer,
cancer; Barrie has been a steady comfort to me. You could call her my
private cheerleader (although she certainly never actually was one)
and she always had positive things to say to me. We were planning a
visit when she came east this June and I planned to visit her when I
came west this coming winter. That was her, caring for others and
never letting us care for her.
For
a long time I used to espoused to the Lou Grant school of life.
“Mary, your born, you live and then you die. That’s all there is,
there’s nothing more.” Having contracted several diseases, one of
them terminal, I have changed my philosophy toward life and death. I
like to think that since we are made of star stuff, and quantum
physics allows for us to all be connected to the entire multi-verse,
we may actually have more to experience than this one life we
supposedly have. I’m still not sure what will actually happens when
I pass. Since Steve Jobs said, “Oh wow, oh wow!” as he passed, I
now suspect there actually may be more. Will we meet each other? I
don’t know. I suspect that the true life we will experience after
death on this plane is much bigger than just us and our interactions
in the small short time that we live.
Grief
is something we all experience. I used to think of grief as this four
step process that we go through. Counting the steps of Shock, Anger,
Depression, and then Moving on. Having experienced the death of my
Mother recently, I have learned different. After we pass, our
relationships with those whom we love, becomes an internal one rather
than an external one. I used to think that we went through these four
steps and everything would be OK. As a people, we tend to think that
this process is a short one if only we go through the steps. Our work
awards us a couple of days in the death of a spouse of parent, no
more. Since they have given us this time, we suppose that we should
be able to move on. These steps have been created for those around
us. How does it go? “It’s been at least three months, shouldn’t
you be back to normal?”
Well,
first, what the hell is normal? Second, the grieving process is for
me, not you and it will take me as long as it takes and I will then
find a new normal to replace the one where my loved one existed. So,
my family, be good to yourselves. Take all the time you need. You
will find in me a responsive ear to listen to you.
As
my Mother so eloquently told me after her death, “Our dear cousin
is no longer where she used to be. She is now wherever we are.”
The
current matriarchal baton has been passed down the line and now resides
with Debbie Gilman.
