Once in a while extreme sorrow can bring profound joy

My brothers and I gathered yesterday to say goodbye to our stepmother. Although dad has gone on to collect yet another spouse, Bev will always be our only true stepmom. She was legally a part of our family for more than 18 years, but remained a part of our lives even after dad walked out.

All told, we have known Bev for the better part of the last four decades; even following their divorce, she was forever entering and shadowing through our lives at the obligatory card-sending moments, and remained in our [my] thoughts often enough (even though I never acted upon the urges to call as often as I could - or should - have). For that I will forever be sorry.

We have been fortunate over our lifetime(s) to have been blessed with an abundance of grandparents whom we had the privilege to know and communicate with, and given the elderly-ness of their ages upon their deaths, I suppose we can look forward to a good deal of extreme longevity from either side of the family tree. But as is the case at a funeral, you can't help but experience pangs of mortality mixed in with the sorrow and remorse. You find yourself wondering: which of our relatives will we reluctantly have to say "farewell" to next? Am I taking care of myself well enough to earn the right to live on a good while longer?

We stood around her casket, linked arms around shoulders and waists, talking to one another. Kibitzing and chiding; then we wondered what she would say about our demeanor and words? We exchanged quick references of our childhood experiences and remembrances with Bev, and laughed. We must have been quite a sight to the others who had come to pay their respects, but not in a disrespectful way. My brothers prodded at each other good-naturedly, betting who would be the first to break down - at which point which Andy brandished cleaned handkerchiefs.

I had done the bulk of my mourning at home the two days prior, and resolved to keep the stiffest of upper lips while there. However, when my bleary-eyed (and somewhat moist) brothers each exchanged sorrowful glances, I teared up briefly, then dabbed the tears away quickly. I left a stain of blush on one corner of the folded hanky, but I don't think Andy will mind.

Despite the reason for our getting together, I enjoyed the grown-up moments with my brothers, and I look forward to spending a few more hours talking and laughing before the weekend is over. Aaron is heading back to California Sunday and who knows when we will see him again, so I am reveling in the joy of the sad moment.

Peace, comfort and joy to you and yours.