Forever in our hearts

This is probably the closest to an obituary that my aunt Mary will get, outside of the Sacramento newspaper. I've had some time to get a grip on myself, and to get some perspective, and I feel I owe it to her to say a few words.

My aunt Mary was an adventurous, artistic woman, with a love for life. She had a healthy portion of her father's stubbornness, plus a little more. But even more than that, she had an infectious smile, the kind of smile that would put you at ease even before you jumped out of an airplane.

In fact, she did that once. To hear her tell it, it was a damn good thing that the chute would automatically deploy, because the first time she jumped alone, she wasted no time in passing out. I hear it was fun anyway.

We visited thrice, but I only really got to meet her once. Once I was too young to remember anything, and once I was saying my goodbyes, fresh off a last-minute flight, days from the end. The third time was when we really got to meet. I was 12, maybe 13, and all the kids were in Colorado Springs to sell an old settler's cabin we owned in Cascade. I say "we," but I should say "they." I'm one of the grandkids, and had no stake in the deed to the land. I got to be involved anyway, though, for which I am grateful. The cabin may have been a financial drain, an eyesore piled with junk, and a health hazard to occupy, but dammit, it was ours. The man who bought it was a good man, and appreciated it as it was. He didn't want to bulldoze and build a townhome. He wanted to evict the mice, drink from a well, live in a cabin, shit in an outhouse, and restore and maintain the building in a way the kids never could, after Grandpa shut down his construction company. He had the money. Asked how much we wanted, tacked on five grand, and signed the check. In the time that everyone was in town to coordinate, we didn't get to swap many stories, but we did get to swap impressions of one another, to get a snapshot of their personalities and outlooks. I'm glad I got that chance.

Seeing as my parents and I never kept in close touch with my dad's family, I don't know much about my aunt's life as it was for thirty some years, as we all agree we would prefer to remember her. I know it is an awful, evil feeling to remember someone you knew and cared about in pain, wasting away, suffering; not vibrant, joyful, very much alive. Funerals are too somber in our society, and they remember the wrong part of life: the end of it. It is no coincidence that Mary's memorial was likely closer to an Irish wake than your average American funeral. I'm still sure that there was not a dry eye, though. I wasn't there, not for the California one, which was held this past Saturday. Come hell or high water, though, I will attend the Colorado memorial, and do my best to remember this woman's life, not her death. If you don't know what it's like to have to do that as you watch a casket or an urn be lowered into the ground, and with it a part of you, be thankful. Be thankful that you haven't yet held the hand of a loved one as they looked into your eyes and mustered the energy to thank you being there, just being there, and seen all the things, the regrets, the joys, the melancholy in their eyes that they just can't find the words for.

Be glad that you haven't ever heard someone whisper "I wanted to tell you..." into their brother's ear, but too weak to finish the thought.

But I hope, I hope and pray, that you will get the chance to do all of that. That you will get the chance to say goodbye, no matter how much it will hurt, because trust me, if you have the chance and waste it, it will hurt even more. And if you don't get the chance, I hope you do get the chance to say goodbye, even if it's just to a set of words carved into Pikes Peak granite.

Mary was a talented artist, working in many mediums, including charcoal, pen & ink, paint, and sculpture. She saw beauty in her surroundings everywhere she went. She and her partner of many years, Debbie, traveled every chance they got. If I said she lived even a mildly dull life, I'd be a liar. Even as she knew she was dying, Mary insisted upon going to see Zion and Bryce Canyon. It was a tremendous effort, but they managed it. I can only imagine how much better it must have been to be able to see the desert southwest during a time when most people would only be watching the other wall at home. If you've never seen the rock formations of Utah and you ever get the chance, take it. Just take it, because you might not get another. They are breathtakingly beautiful, and have an almost spiritual air to them.

It tears me apart to know that even her last wish was cut short, that aunt Mary never got to see Bryce. But I know that almost everyone Mary cared about was there for her before the end. I saw the pure love with which Debbie looked upon my aunt, and even though she was a pillar of strength in front of everyone, I'm sure she cried the most of all of us. But I'm just as sure that she never let Mary hear her do it.

The last time I saw her alive, if that state of limbo can truly be called life, was on June 3, 2008. I'm not all that religious, but the fact that I met a minister on the plane back home is no coincidence in my mind. I didn't tell him why I had been in Sacramento, and he didn't ask. I didn't cry on the plane, but he could tell that something was bothering me, and had just the right thing to say. Mary Dwyer passed away at approximately 7:00 in the morning, June 6, 2008, with Debbie by her side. May she rest in peace, and join her mother in heaven.

She was not a sinner, and I'll thrash anyone who says otherwise.

There is a flickr page of photos of my aunt Mary, enjoying vacations, birthday paries, and the company of old friends. Email me if you'd like the link.