I knew I needed to grieve. I’d been trying but being so far from family I couldn’t get to that place. But now, as I pushed my brush against the canvas to create leaves and flowers, I knew I was starting down the road I needed to travel. 

My grandpa passed before the pandemic hit Canada and two of my great aunts passed during. Three elderly family members on my mom’s side in such a short time. 

Being on the other side of the world, their passing seemed so distant. Yet, I knew my world was changing. And when a family member leaves this world, they leave a gift, but we have to wrestle through memories, thoughts and perceptions to discover it. 

We need to be intentional. 

 Living far from home, I’ve faced this before. I have no chance to gather with family when a loved one dies, no one nearby to revive old memories. I can’t attend a funeral to say good-bye. And now, during Covid, many have faced this challenge. When my great aunt Verna passed she could have only one person by her side and her funeral as well as Grandpa’s burial could be attended by few. 

How do we grieve in the absence of a community that helps funnel us through the process? I’ve learned that when those supports are not naturally in place, we can create new ones. We need to.  

For me, writing and painting are my grieving.

As I painted these flowers, I pushed past the surface level of my loss and remembered great aunt Maxine. I knew her least of the three, so I was surprised my thoughts turned to her. But it makes sense, too. She was soft and sweet and I like to think I’m like her. My clearest memory of her is during those awkward teen years. I was surrounded by people and she approached me to talk. Our conversation was short and stilted – I didn’t know what to say. Yet, her eyes held mine for that brief encounter and I felt acceptance in her manner. 

After she passed, I asked Mom to tell me more. I wished I’d asked before. What was the sister of my grandma like? When I was a child, it was hard to connect my grandma and great aunts as sisters – I couldn’t imagine they were once children, running together. But now I’ve watched my own children grow and my understanding has grown, too. “There were never sisters as close as these,” Mom quoted my grandma’s cousin. 

As Mom talked of aunt Maxine, she confirmed my impression – “She was kindhearted, and classy, too.” And whenever there was a family event, she requested my mom’s famous lemon squares. 

I learned that years ago, when Mom was six years old, she and her sister visited aunt Maxine’s home on an army base. I could see my mom as a child and imagined her delight when she told me aunt Maxine gave her two pairs of shorts she’d made, complete with secret pockets soon filled with coins for penny candy.

I love hearing the memories my mom holds.

Imagining my mom and her sister with new coins in their pockets unlocked the door to the past. I let myself go back to my own childhood.

I was running, carefree. This was unusual as I was a timid child. But now there was a group of us, a gang, and we passed through rooms, wound ‘round corners and sped down hallways. I was with my cousins. We had gathered to celebrate Christmas and it was a challenge to find a place big enough. On this occasion I believe we were at Grandma’s church, in Stratford, Ontario. 

My oldest cousin led the way but as we approached a group of adults we were forced to slow. I came to a halt before my grandpa. 

My eyes crept up to see his face. He wasn’t the kind of grandpa who’s knee you climb onto. At that time, I felt I barely knew him. But I was amazed by him and the identical man by his side. His twin had managed to grow an inch taller and that missing inch was the only way I could tell who was my grandpa. 

“Whose are you?” he said to me. His voice was rough.

“Sandy’s,” I said in my tiny voice. I’m the daughter of his second child of seven. 

He nodded, having found my place.

While this may seem a strange moment to hold on to, as I relived memories with my grandpa my mind kept returning to this scene. I realized something significant accompanied the short interchange that is an anchor for me. It’s a feeling I’ve often longed for again. 

My grandpa asked me who I was, he questioned my identity. And when I answered I was met with a nod. I belonged. 

How many times, as I entered the teen and young adult years was I questioned on my identity, my family, my value. 

How I longed to be met with that simple nod again.

I ran with my cousins at aunt Verna’s, too. Well, it was more of an energetic walk as I was now a teen and knew I shouldn’t be running. The excitement of being with my cousins put the bounce back in my step. 

We wound past the china cabinet and the long table filled with homemade treats.  We haunted the table, looking longingly at the sight of cherry cheesecake and my mom’s lemon squares but it wasn’t time to eat yet. “Go outside,” the adults said. And together we went. 

When we tired of sitting on patio furniture in an elegant space that didn’t fit my understanding of a backyard, I led the way upstairs. I’d been here before. 

It couldn’t have been more than a year earlier that my mom was driving my sister and I to a wedding shower in this same city, Stratford, Ontario. Stratford – with its Avon River, its swans and its Festival. Stratford, the place that held memories for my mom that made her eyes light up like a child’s. I always knew a day in Stratford with my mom was a gift. When we were there, together, she welcomed me into the best of her memories. 

This time on the drive our car broke down, and for me, a small town girl, a trip to a wedding shower became an adventure. 

This was before the days of cell phones, so my mom hunted down a pay phone and made some calls. Her whole family jumped to our rescue – getting the car towed, driving us to the shower, and best of all providing a room for the night, at aunt Verna’s bed and breakfast. 

As my great aunt led us down the hall of the second floor, where I later led my cousins, I peered into room after room. Each bed was perfectly made, each space perfectly arranged. Like a giant dollhouse. At the end of the hall stood a statue of a knight in his armour, and as I looked at him, I felt that like Lucy stepping out of the wardrobe, I’d been taken to another world. 

I didn’t remember having ever been there before, though my mom tells me she took me when I was young, and I played in those rooms while she helped aunt Verna stitch the quilts that covered each bed. 

And now as a teen I climbed into one of the beds. I pulled one of the quilts over my shoulders. With my mom in a single bed beside me and my sister in another, I marvelled at having such an amazing aunt. 

In the morning my great uncle made us breakfast. And it struck me as wonderful that he was there, with an apron wound ‘round him, making fine food for us. The dining room was formal, everything fancy and ready for other guests, who were still in bed. 

But I couldn’t sleep this day away. My cousin soon joined me and the two of us were given tickets for a live performance at the Stratford Festival. My mom and sister fed the swans by the river while my cousin and I watched actors dance across the stage, recreating Shakespeare’s story. I’d been invited aboard another boat for a time, removed from the stormy sea of teenage life, and taken to a world of wonder. 

 My mom’s family rallied together and provided this for me.

That feeling of wonder, I wanted to experience it again. In the years following I broadened my world, wanting to see more. I moved far from my family. 

The desire still burned in me when, as a young adult, I attended a family gathering. I hadn’t yet crossed the Pacific without my parents, but I’d zigzagged the continent and having flown home from the west, my mom wanted us to be together again. It was different now. My cousins couldn’t come. Our lives had spread. Without them, I was bored. 

My uncle told me that as I got older, family would matter more. 

I could see that was true for him. He looked so relaxed and happy to be there. 

Years later, his words came back to me. Now, during Covid, my world has become small again. The restrictions halted my quest to explore. Flights were cancelled, trips postponed and postponed again. As you can probably relate, Covid shut out many of the enjoyable aspects of life. It also shut out the distractions and gave me the opportunity to create a space to do something so important – to remember aunt Maxine, aunt Verna and Grandpa.