Never Forgotten

When our beloved dog died during the night when Young Man wasn’t very old, it was the first time he had to deal with the life cycle ending.  So we had a service, minus the eulogy and singing, complete with flowers and a grave marker.  It made Young Man feel better to have had the service.

It made Captain and me rather reflective.  We started talking about funerals in general, and then moved on to speculating on our own.  Captain said he did not want anyone crying at his wake.  He said he was going to rewrite his will to include specific instructions that, after the viewing of his body, everyone is to gather at our house to eat, drink, and be merry.  He always loved a good party; that would be the Irish in him coming out.

Me, I want my wake to be a warm reminiscing of the person I was.  I want Captain to tell about the time I hooked the bumper of his pickup on the guide wire of the yard pole and hyperventilated when I almost brought it crashing down on top of me.  

I want Young Man to tell about the time I dressed up as Twinkle the Elf on Halloween and went trick-or-treating with him.  

I want Princess to talk about the girls’ weekend we had in Chicago with Captain’s mom (some things were just too funny to stay in Chicago!).  

I want my brothers to tell how we used to put Alka-Seltzer in our mouths and see who could keep their mouth shut the longest without foam pouring out.  

I want my good friend to tell about the time we almost got asked to leave a kitchen gadget store one time for getting the giggles over something and causing something of a scene.

I want my FFA Parli Pro kids to talk about how Sargent Mom was tough but fair and just as surprised as they were when we advanced to state competition.

I don’t know what stories Cubby and other grandchildren could tell because we haven’t made those memories yet...but we will.  Oh yes, you bet we will.  Maybe it will be Gramma jumping in mud puddles with them.  Maybe it will be Gramma reading a special book each and every time they stayed over night.  Who knows...but I hope they talk about it.  

In the years since the dog was buried, our family has dealt with several tragic losses that have affected how Young Man and Princess view life.  They have learned that when tragedy happens, family steps up and takes care of its own, friends come out of the woodwork with support and love, and God takes you through each minute, hour, day, and week that passes until you find your “new normal.”  I think they have gained a better understanding of “love your neighbor” through these losses, but I wish they had not had to learn it this way; the burial of our family dog was more in line with how I wanted them to learn this.

One of those losses was my dad, 12 years ago today.  I don’t think about him every day like I used to, or even every week.  But on those special days...his birthday, Father’s Day, Christmas, and Groundhog’s Day (his favorite holiday)...he comes to mind clear as day.  I still cry when those thoughts come, but all that tells me is that he was special, and he isn’t forgotten.

I once saw a plaque that said, “When a loved one becomes a memory, the memory becomes a treasure.”  I wouldn’t mind being treasured, but mostly I just want to be remembered.  Not necessarily in grand fashion or with awe.  Just as a person who did the best she could most of the time and the worst she could when she got in that kind of mood.  To know that hopefully someone, somewhere, was positively affected by my having been on this earth.  To know that I left a legacy of love, laughter, and friendship to those I leave behind.