Coexistence of Gratitude and Grief
Gratitude
Although the coexistence between gratitude and grief is the essence of this story, it began in 2006 when I moved into my house with my now husband. We both grew up in the same Connecticut suburb and ended up in Boston. Yeah, I may have followed him. After years as a city girl, I never wanted to return to the burbs. The last two months of 2006 reinforced that. I felt cold and lonely in this very quiet place. In this place, nothing was open past 9 PM, and people called the police for the most ridiculous things.
The following Spring, we were invited to the high school graduation party of the young girl next door. We were sitting outside on one of the first nice days of May when she came walking up the stairs to give us an invitation. At the time, we had our fierce protector of an American Bulldog who was all bark and no bite. She did her thing to try and scare this nice young girl away by barking ferociously. It didn’t work. The girl just held her hand out and completely diffused my dog. There was an energy to her like I had never seen. Of course we went to the party not knowing what to expect and had a lovely time.
Neighbors
About a month later, I stepped into our local garden center searching for a mint plant. We were heavy into mojitos then, and this would be better than continuing to buy mint at the grocery store. I heard a voice telling me that the center was closed and realized it was my next-door neighbor, Rose, the mother of the young girl who invited us to her party. I don’t recall exactly what I said then, but it was something along the lines of…
“Hey, I’m your neighbor, and I’d like to buy this mint plant so we can have mojitos tonight. Could I just give you cash for it?”
I paid her $20 for that $4 plant that ended up creating an abundant number of drinks that summer. Rose was kind enough to put my change in the mailbox, and shortly after that, we invited her and her husband, Philippe, over to enjoy mojitos with us. The rest is history.
Grief
This is the slightly longer version of the story I told at Rose’s beautiful memorial service. In August 2024, we lost her after she courageously battled Alzheimer’s for over a decade.
We made so many great memories on this deck, where I am writing this in my journal on the day of her service. And while today brought a sense of closure, it also brought a finality.
Death feels final, but is it?
We know logically that we had already lost Rose. Alzheimer’s is its own kind of tragedy. It’s not like a sudden accident or a suicide or the all-too-accepted mass shooting that has become too common in America. But it steals the person slowly and in an extremely drawn-out manner until there is nothing left.
I know that Rose has been liberated from her suffering. As a thoughtful and deliberate person, I can’t imagine how painful it must have been for her to slowly lose her mind. Perhaps through her liberation, she can be more present with us. Her service was beautiful and included chanting, offering of incense, jazz improvisation by her beloved husband, and tributes from those in the room and many who joined on Zoom.
A Puff and a Splash
After the service, we went to our local brew pub to grab a beer. Not only was Bob Dylan, one of her favorite artists playing but there was a whole group of people speaking American Sign Language, which she taught for many years.
Through the grief that I feel over this loss, I feel a deep gratitude in my heart for having known this woman.
Rose, you were such a badass, wise woman. You taught me so much about giving fewer fucks, questioning authority and societal norms, and living life in a fiercely unapologetic way. Without you and Philippe, I don’t know that I would have been happy living in this quiet and sometimes overly uptight town. Our friendship made me feel like I belonged here and had found my people. We laughed and cried through so much. We shared conversation, good food, and so many spontaneous instances of a puff and a splash. You often made me laugh so hard that I could have peed myself. And the many memories and stories will continue to bring tears of joy.
My dear friend, wherever you are…
Follow the Sun
Breathe in the Air
Set Your Intentions
Dream with Care
Tonight, I’ll have a puff and a splash in your honor. And I know you will be with me for the rest of my days on this earth.
Watch this short video to dive deeper into the Coexistence of Gratitude and Grief.
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