arla

I'm here to speak about you.

where do I begin? I've grown to know you more in the last few months than I knew you in my lifetime. I've sat with you and listened to your stories, held your hand and looked into your beautiful blue eyes that have seen so much, cried with you. We sad goodbye so many times. We talked openly, nothing to lose, about life, fear, love, death. all of it. fearlessly. I've stroked your hands and forehead. unfurled your fingers in my hands, in life and then death. always in wonder of your soft skin. always in wonder of how many years your fierce body strode this earth, your strong voice burrowed into truth.

I remember being little. young. staying with you and grandpa overnight in clearwater. thunderstorms. I was always anxious. You taught me how to make flowers out of clay. I remember the rumble and shake of the train behind your house. sitting on the back porch, watching birds. I remember a summer sunset over the st. lawrence river, listening to the lapping of the waves from your cottage in Canada.

you shared stories. I only had to ask one question and you would unfold our family tree like a well worn book. You would sift through the pages of that book and paint full pictures of the people in our family. who married whom, who left whom, who died young, the favorite song of this person, or the peculiar habit of this person. You brought the years to life, inviting your listeners to taste the particular apple varieties that you loved so much (your time picking them fresh from the orchard when you were young). You smoothed the dust off of old ancestors who easily could have become names in a ledger. You animated them with their emotional storms and silences, their passions for books or theatre, their oppressions and their brilliant gifts. In the last few months, especially, you shared without edit or censorship, and offered the great gift of truth telling. I learned that our family is strong and petty and generous and smart, full of good choices, bad choices, questionable choices. they are adventurous and meek, kind and cruel, afraid and fearless, messy, flawed, and fallible. complicated and beautiful and human.

you were a force and you only grew stronger in your commitment to justice as you grew older. If you sensed or knew about anyone being treated poorly, or neglected, or taken advantage of, you rose to the cause and persisted until some resolution or repair was achieved. You'd use your voice and talk, call, write, whomever you needed to, and you'd keep talking.  You were stubborn and independent.