Epilogue

Throughout the seasons, these ancient hills and forests have witnessed endless cycles of humankind. From the infant to the child, the child to the parent, the parent to the elder, and the elder to the deceased. And though, relatively speaking, I am still only the child, despite my youth I have witnessed quite a celebration of life.

How wondrous, this day of all days. How beautiful my niece's eyes, how charming my nephew's smile. Through our tears and sorrow, we could all grin as baby Braydon practiced his awkward beginner's crawl, and laugh when he accidentally face-planted on Daddy's shoe. We could all glow with purity and joy as we looked upon the fresh smiling face of Elizabeth, and feel such pride at the strength of an instinctual family tie as the cousins could not tear their eyes from each other.

Mom was so strong, kept herself so composed. In turn, we each approached the casket where lay our beloved Gran. Macho pride thrown aside, brothers embraced sisters, and together, we all cried in mourning.

Mom was the youngest daughter, as am I, and we shared a moment beside dear Gran. My mind raced forward through time, and suddenly I was in her shoes, looking down upon the still face of my own mother. How fast our feet will eat up the years and bring me to that very moment. I told Mom I love her, as those days will be upon us far too soon. Too soon will this youngest daughter be hovering above the one who gave her life yet no longer lives.
And then my mind leaped further ahead in time, until it was I in the casket. Until it was my own offspring that made up this congregation with flowers, tissues, and tears.

Such are the seasons of humankind. We age, and move forward, act by act, through our theatrical performance entitled Existence. There can be no greater sense of this than in the scene where your mother holds her grandchildren at the funeral wake of your own grandmother. Watching this parent complete the slow emergence into elder, the real weight of all these years sets down upon your shoulders as an abundance, as well as a shortage, of life.

Although it was only a private viewing, I saw a number of faces I did not recognize shed their own tears of grief for dear Gran. She was truly loved by many throughout her life, and inspired more love even while nearing the end of her life. I am relieved she no longer suffers, yet I can't help but think about all of her stories that are now lost, and the fragments of them that I will cherish forever in my memory. As much as I already treasure conversation, her passing has only consolidated that, and has me vowing to never turn a deaf ear to anyone who has anything to say.

My most adored sister brought Gran a feather from Joey, her old cockatiel, and placed it beneath her hands in the casket. Mom had to laugh at such a gesture, and my sister and I giggled along through our tears. Sis tore apart her room to find it, and Mom said Gran would appreciate it, we all knew how she loved her birds.
I remember drawing and colouring a picture of Joey, how long I worked on it, and how proud I was. Gran sent it to her relatives in England with her letter so they could see what he looked like, and wanted me to draw her another one. I remember becoming so frustrated because my second picture wasn't nearly as good as the first. Even at that younger age, I was still the perfectionist I am today. Gran kept the picture on the fridge until the day she moved out of the apartment a few years ago.
I'll never forget the day Joey laid an egg, and Gran's shock that he was actually a she. Joey used to wander around on the table while we ate, and shared Gran's tea. She always had to give her shit for trying to drink it while it was too hot. I remember Gran's sandwiches, and how no other sandwich in the world would taste as good, no matter what. To this day, I have never tasted a better sandwich.

Gran was kind and wise, and it was very rare that you would ever hear her complain. But above all, she was strong. Gran was completely self sufficient up until her late eighties, and survived so much in her last few years that others wouldn't. She was a young woman during the war years when she met my grandfather, who passed away while I was still an infant. In her lifetime she bore three children, two daughters and a son, and witnessed the birth of seven grandchildren, as well as becoming a great-grandmother eight times. I carry her first name beside my own, and my niece wears Gran's last name as her first, which she proudly proclaimed to the ladies at the wake.

Although she is no longer with us in this physical world, Gran will live on eternally, not only in our hearts, but forever through our DNA. My mother carries Gran's unbelievable willpower and resilience, and I like to think each of us children inherited some of her strength as well. Her passing is a reminder of each our own inevitable fate, because although these thoughts often float around inside my head, only through dealing with death do they ever really hit home.
But moreso, Gran's passing is a regrouping of family. Throughout her life, it was her family that gave her the motivation and the will to go on through hard times. To each other, we are the rainbows after the dark storm clouds. To us, she is the sunlight that gives birth to the beauty of the rainbows.

Condolences aside, it's time to think perspective.