Monday, September 16, 2019

Last of The Nine


This beautiful soul, our beloved Aunt Grace, gently laid down her mortal coil on Sunday morning. She was 93. She was still living in her apartment in Toronto, which she was to vacate next month and move to Jamaica to live with her daughter. On Friday night, she got up to go to the bathroom, and on her way back to bed collapsed. Her live-in caregiver heard the fall and came to help. She called the paramedics, who wanted to take her to the hospital, but Aunt Grace declined. She refused to be taken in on a stretcher.

Instead, she went back to bed, and in the morning, dressed herself nicely, drawing on her eyebrows and fixing her hair, then allowed one of her friends, her angels she calls them, to drive her to the hospital. She walked in serenely and was admitted. The tests showed she'd had a heart attack, which was why she'd fallen. Her enzymes were all out of whack. When she spoke to her daughter and granddaughter from her hospital bed on Saturday night, she sounded bright and cheerful, the usual sparkle was in her voice, and they believed she was on the mend.

On Sunday morning, one of her angels came to visit her in the hospital. Aunt Grace said to her, "My darling, I'm dying. I am in such pain." Her friend started to call for a nurse, but Aunt Grace stopped her. She said, "Just hold my hand." Her friend held Aunt Grace's hand in hers, and they just stayed like that for a bit until Aunt Grace took a deep breath, a moan hidden under it, and like that she departed.


This one hits particularly hard. Aunt Grace was the last of the nine Stiebel siblings, the one whose voice sounded so like my mother's that even their children couldn't tell them apart on the phone. She was perfectly named, graceful and gracious, with eyes that twinkled with a deep resilient knowledge that nothing in this life should be taken too seriously, at least not seriously enough to dampen the fuel of our existence, which she believed was joy.

Now the nine are all back together and she is reunited with her beloved Ken. I am trying to imagine them rejoicing on the other side and draw comfort from that. But the world seems so much the poorer now. One of our brightest lights has crossed the horizon and we ache from missing her. Fly with the angels dear Aunt Grace. You were that rarest of souls, a woman who knew how to make her own joy, no matter what might be happening around her. Others might have buckled at some of the challenges she faced. Instead she kept her attention on life's gifts, the greatest of which was her family, and of course, her angels. She delighted in those around her as she recited poems from her schoolgirl days, or offered a well-told joke, or simply held us in her clear green gaze, which to me seemed animated always by some ancient understanding of love. 


That's Grace on the far right. Her mother, my grandmother, is pregnant with the ninth child. Aunt Grace always joked that when she first saw this photo, she looked at herself and thought, "Oh Grace, you're going to have to learn to do your own hair." Her mother's hair was straight, and her older sister Winnie, charged with combing the younger girls' hair, had a curly rather than a tightly coiled hair texture, with the result that she gave them, as Grace described it, muffin heads. 

Aunt Grace indeed learned how to do her own hair, and when we were growing up, nothing made her nieces feel more special than when Aunt Grace had a turn with combing and styling our hair. She made us look positively radiant. But what I remember most is that she also made it fun. As we sat before her, our arms draped over her knees, she'd comb out our tangles while leading us in song rounds—Kookaburroa sits in the old gum tree/ Merry merry king of the bush is he—that song in particular, laughing when we got to the chorus—Laugh, Kookaburra, laugh, Kookaburra/ Gay your life must be. Oh how we all loved her. She and the rest of my dearly departed are why I choose to believe in an afterlife, as the thought that I will see them again is how I'm getting through. 



16 comments:

  1. What a beautiful tribute to a wonderful woman. Hers was a life well lived. Thank you for sharing her with us. I'm sorry she's gone.

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  2. Your words carry the depth of your sorrow. Clearly, Grace was a beautiful woman who passed on a legacy of love. I'm so sorry for your loss. The sad passing of a generation.

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  3. A beautiful and poignant post. I am so sorry for your loss.

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  4. sad and lovely post. I'm sorry for your loss but she did it right. she knew it was time and gave herself to it.

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  5. I'm so sorry for your loss, R. - your aunt lived up to her name in life and death, a remarkable lady. The last in a family to pass on truly leaves an even bigger void, does it not? Hugs, my friend.

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  6. I am so sorry about Grace. Thank you always for sharing your family here with such generosity.
    Love
    Rebecca

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  7. Yes. Exactly what Rebecca said- when you so generously share your family with us you let us know that such grace and such light is possible in this world. I wish I could say what I mean better.
    The story of her passing says everything. "Just hold my hand."
    I am weeping, writing this. How many times have you and I said to each other- Here's my hand?
    What true grace. She and it will always be with you. Always.
    I love you.

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  8. Sending love. Thank you for sharing your beloved Aunt Grace through memories and with the beautiful photos of three phases of her long life. There is an art to living fully even while dying that she embodies so movingly. I see her grace in you.

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  9. Such a sweet gentle soul right the way through. A lovely death, I hope for this.The photo is a treasure! I would like to know those folks!

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  10. That sounds like a beautiful way to cross over.
    My father's sisters had that same puffy hair look when they were little. Their mother had straight hair and just didn't know.

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  11. What a lovely family photo and she sounds like she was a lovely lady as well. I'm sorry for your loss but I am thankful she got to leave this world on her own terms. I should be so lucky. Sending hugs.

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  12. I am so sorry for your loss. Aunt Grace sounds like such a wonderful soul and human being. Your tribute is so beautiful. Love lasts forever. May her memory be for a blessing.

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  13. Oh, what a heartfelt tribute to your beloved Aunt Grace. Your memory of her combing your hair is so tender and precious...may “Kookaburra sits in the old gum tree” comfort you as you grieve. That family portrait is a treasure.

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  14. I am so very sorry for your Loss of Beloved Aunt Grace, it was inspiring though how she went on her own terms, that was beautiful and a good way to end a full life. My Dad was very much a strong Spirit like your Aunt Grace, when he was sure he was dying, he told me it was a good day to die and lapsed into a coma shortly thereafter, it wasn't long afterwards he departed, I had thought it was so very much like him to live on his own terms and die on them as well. That Family Portrait is wonderful, I Wish we had more old Family Portraits on either side of the Family, alas, we do not.

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  15. Your dear aunt sounds like a wonderful woman. I'm so sorry that you will be missing her now but I think your days will probably still be full of her with all the lovely memories that you have.
    That picture of her and the one of her family exude such love and dignity and your are right there in her eyes. You are in that picture of Grace.

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  16. After my mom (also a Grace, aptly named) received a diagnosis of terminal cancer with months to live, she would lie down for a rest each afternoon and said her "angels," who as I recall she said appeared as coloured light, came and stood by the bed. She had no fear of dying, she said. "I've always been looked after, and I imagine I always will be." I will remember your aunt's request to have her hand held as she took her last breath. Beautiful. -Kate

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