Hello, awesome readers!
Although part of the human experience, it’s never easy.
And even though a sac full of Scrabble tiles are having a rave party in the dictionary portion of my brain right now, trying to build words – words like honour, and celebrate, and remember – none of them feel quite right.
It happened early in the morning last Thursday, on January 9th. This is when Elsie, someone I’m proud to have called my Sistah, took her last breath. Elsie is (I can’t use the word was just yet) part of my Bonus Family, one of many from my someone’s side of the family.
Elsie. The eldest of six siblings.
Elsie. The mother to a Hershey’s Kiss. (I refer to her daughter as a Hershey’s Kiss because she’s tiny in stature but big in goodness… like a Hershey’s Kiss.)
Words to describe Elsie…
Imaginative. Elsie used her talents as a seamstress and attention to detail to create beautiful pieces, including wedding dresses for those she loved. You read that right. WEDDING DRESSES.
“One of my most cherished memories… when you made my wedding dress. The final result was beyond anything I could have imagined.” Words from one of Elsie’s sisters.
Funny. Elsie loved to laugh and had a wonderful sense of humour, right up until her last cognitive hour.
“Well, maybe Vivi will get laid out of this,” she said of her circumstances and her daughter’s friend flirting with one of the nurses at the hospital. This, just weeks before her last breath.
Giving. Elsie was always thinking of ways to make the world a better place. Like using leftover pieces of fabric to create something new and beautiful.
“I’m making placemats for underprivileged families, because even poor people deserve nice things,” she said to me last summer.
Nonjudgemental. Elsie was open-hearted beyond her generation. A loving soul that appreciated people for who they are.
“I leave my window open to give him an audience,” she said once about the homeless man who plays the accordion in the park across the street from her apartment.
I’m not going to lie. This is a hard piece to write and to take breaks, I’m scrolling through my phone, re-reading text conversations I’ve had with Elsie over the years. Okay, so I guess it’s not really a break. It’s a hardcore reminder that she’s gone.
She. Is. Gone.
* deep breath *
That was hard to say. Well, write.
There’s something melancholic about reading the words from someone who is no longer with us. You can feel their essence as though they’re involved in a text conversation with you as they make jewelry at their kitchen table. Yes, Elsie also made jewelry. Her specialty was (getting closer to using that word… was) upcycling. Elsie loved to give new life to anything and everything.
“I just hate to see things not be useful anymore,” she would say.
As I write this, I’m sitting in a public place, letting all the emotions swirl through me like soft ice cream. The tears keep gathering at the bottom of my eyes and I keep fake sneezing so that people think I’m fighting a cold, rather than grief.
Recently, I asked my someone (Elsie’s brother) if it would be okay if I write about her. His response?
“It’s what you do.”
He’s right. It’s how I process.
And let me tell you… no matter how old you get or how many people leave you during your lifetime, it doesn’t get easier. At this stage of my life, my calendar is tilting toward having more dates marked RIP (name; year of passing), than birthdays.
So, yes. Death is part of the human experience. We can’t explain it, we have a hard time accepting it, and it does a great job at reminding us how temporary we are.
Another word for Elsie is fearless. During one of my last conversations with her, we were talking about the end. Her end. Bed-ridden and now with complications that stripped her of any dignity, she had accepted her fate. She was ready to go.
“I wonder what’s waiting for you on the other side,” I said to her. “It’s almost like an adventure into the unknown.”
For a moment, I saw Elsie.
“I KNOW!” She said with excitement in her eyes. “It HAS to be better than this shit. And if I can find a way, I’ll let you know.”
Perhaps she will let me know.
Perhaps she has already moved on, catching up with the people who left during her lifetime. Enjoying a long-deserved glass of wine, reminiscing, and hopefully even gossiping about us living mortals… the ones who can’t explain death, have a hard time accepting it, and who are reminded just how temporary we are.
And perhaps temporary is a good thing.
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Mona Andrei is an award-winning blogger and author of SUPERWOMAN: A Funny and Reflective Look at Single Motherhood.
When Mona isn’t writing, you can probably find her practicing her dance moves. As a member of a competitive hip hop team, she likes to think that she’ll stay young and cool forever. She may be delusional.
Wow. Finished this with sniffles myself! Elsie sounds like an amazing, hilarious, creative person. How lucky you were to have her in your life. She’ll be missed.
Thank you, Laurie!