Obituary Assignment Inspires

I’d never been so thrown by a class assignment. Yet, there I sat,

staring at a blank screen, waiting for the words to come as I tried to write my own obituary. I began with my name. I moved on to the “dash” part which would include: born on…dash…died. I chose not to fill in the date I died, but did take note of how old I was.

I was 47 years old.

I’d been alive for 47 years. That’s 17,155 days to get it right. I looked at the prompts for this writing assignment. What do I want my life to reflect? I thought I’d take a creative approach and write about the dreams that I’d had for an entrepreneurial venture. Who were the people I wanted to impact? I wrote about my family and the throngs of other creatives who would be loved to live by words I had written.

So full of life!

And then it hit me. Or should I say, SHE hit me, and spoke to my heart in the way of one who had been there. My sister, Mary, vibrant, strong, energetic, driven. Yes, Mary who had taken her role as the eldest of twelve children and blazed trails for the rest of us to follow. Headstrong, resilient, yet vulnerable and self-protective. Mary called to me in this assignment. I felt my eyes drift to her most recent business card that rested on my desk, Director of Veteran Affairs at the Erie County Courthouse. I knew that assignment had been a joy to her. My sister passionately embraced her role of helping veterans receive the benefits they’d earned and deserved. I was one of those veterans and had the privilege to see my sister’s work in action.

Though she loved her job, what made her zest come to life was love for people. She didn’t have a clique, Mary loved everyone. She

Mary with her family

didn’t see color, age, size, or financial status…she saw fellow travelers in the journey of life. Her special tribe was her children and husband. She’d been married three times. Her belief in love and a desire to provide a caring home for her family kept her heart open to possibility. Her capacity to live the line, “Hope springs eternal,” led her to open a shop as “The Cookie Lady,” take on several jobs within the realm of her Criminal Justice degree, joyfully serve in a comedy club,  seek and win ribbons for various baking competitions, and even enter competitive body-building after having her six children. She had trophies that nodded to her drive to succeed. Yet, with all her accomplishments, I was most grateful for her generous kindness.  I remember her knock on my door when I was a single mother. Opening the door back then, let in the whirlwind of my sister and her bevy of children for a ten-minute visit to bring me a meal. No matter what turmoil was taking place in Mary’s life, she dealt with it by internalizing the phrase, “Fake it til you make it,” pasting on a smile and helping others.

Even when the cancer diagnosis was delivered.

I was in the car with my sister when she had to make a quick stop, to drop off one of her long blond wigs to a co-worker who wanted to dress up for a hot date with her husband. Mary had sass. Mary had pizazz. She had style, fun, and a bravery that allowed her to try on all sorts of looks…even as she dropped down to under a hundred pounds.

I am so grateful that I had enough sense to accept her offer to hand out Halloween candy at her house that final October in her life. She was in full-form with her striped stockings, black silk pointed hat, full make-up, and of course, a fantastic wig. She smiled and called each neighbor by name. She giggled with the litany of compliments to her fabulous persona. “Well, why wouldn’t I dress up?,” she laughed.

Susie, she now seemed to whisper as my keyboard sat untouched…do something. Do it all. That dream to touch people and bring your ideas to life doesn’t just happen. Take the steps to bring it to life.

I am 47 years old…turning 48 this year. Mary was 48 when that date was filled in after her dash. I want to live and love others. I will write the obituary as a list of my goals…and I will take steps toward those goals with gratitude, courage, perseverance and the memory of those who have led the way.

Living Life Large

Happy Halloween!

  18 years of Trick or Treating have taught me...never take anything for granted.  Like, it's not a given all your children will be healthy enough to go...and may even throw-up in the truck on the way to frivolous fun.  That year was a bummer as it was the first child's first Halloween.

  I've learned it's possible to push past personal trauma and illness to ensure your kiddos can participate in the festivities.  Hey, being released from the hospital with just enough time to spare AND still having a bit of meds circulating in the system mean "YES we can!," as long as hubby is there to lend an arm and hold the flashlight as we weave down the street.

  It is SO MUCH FUN to take the kids to the neighborhoods with doors you once knocked on.  Granted, it's probably more fun in your own mind since you're re-living the good ol' days.  Perhaps the children can't feel the joy of walking a "country mile" with stretches of fields between houses.  Now it's all about filling the bag...ok, it was then too.  We just didn't know there was an alternative.
My husband and I took one year each out of the near two decades to walk these old paths.  The smiles on the faces in my husband's old stomping grounds as they greeted one of the Yurkewicz boys and his offspring--PRICELESS!

  I've learned to influence costumes while there is still time!  Yes, in the ideal years my children went dressed as an angel or Saint.  Now there are "tasteful" vampires and Elsa.  While dressing my second youngest child in his Army-man costume for a party last night it came time to add a tough-guy tattoo.  I hesitated over his bicep for a second before suggesting, "How bout a heart with Mom?"  He replied, "How bout a drop of blood."  To which I responded, "How bout MOM in a heart?"  "Ummm, how bout a flame?" he hopefully asked.  I was not giving up knowing my third-grader wouldn't be offering me his little flexed muscles much longer...next year he'd be grabbing the paints himself...and in years to come perhaps darkening the door of a real ink shop.  "How bout Mom." I stated.  "Ok, how bout Mom, he agreed with a smile."  Whew!  You can bet I called attention to that tattoo at the party- Look how my son loves me!

  There was the year we finally accepted the offer to trick-or-treat in my oldest sister's neighborhood.  My sister Mary had been diagnosed with stage 4 colo-rectal cancer and I just wanted to be near her.  A couple things learned that night a) Never try and out-do my sister...there would be no winning.  I felt so festive in my orange and black until I was greeted at the door by a beautiful, glamorous witch complete with striped stockings, a feathery, pointed hat, full make-up, and wig. b) It can be more fun staying behind to man the "giving" station.  Mary and I giggled over home-made yarn braids, scary masks, and neighbors who had come and see her in all her finery.  We also sat in quiet as certain moments called for.  I had the opportunity to ooh-and ahh over every decorative spider web, lit up jack-o-lantern, and fiery cauldron she had found the energy to set out--of course she gloried in the compliments.  c) I should have come to my sister's years ago when her health was well.  Mary's been gone for almost two years now and the tears run down my cheeks as I remember that evening and am grateful that we drove across town-even past the country roads we grew up on to spend that fun evening together.  I'm grateful for her example and hold her spirit of joy deep in my heart as we head out this year. 

    I acknowledge the largest lesson of this season: time moves swiftly.  Therefore I commit to seizing the moment while holding kids and family close.  I am insisting we head to the other side of town as a family- though some teenagers would rather hang with friends.  Regardless of the chill in the air, I will rejoice with each thud of candy in their hard plastic pumpkin.  Not for material gain...but because we walk together as a family- through the darkness of the night and find reasons to laugh and support one another.  It is what you make it.  Perhaps I'll throw on a bit of "ink" tonight.  I'll be the arm with seven little hearts holding onto my husband as we weave through the streets.  He's relented this year...back to my old town.  But not the same old country streets.  The cousins we'll trick or treat with have learned there are streets that exist with houses that are separated by mere driveways.  Even I can appreciate change.