Remembrance Day - 11/11

Today at 11 am, we will be celebrating the 91st anniversary of the end of one of the deadliest conflicts in human history, the deadliest in Canadian history - the First World War. It's Remembrance Day here in Canada, the day we wear poppies, take a moment of silence and lay wreaths at cenotaphs all over the country in honour of those we've lost in conflicts.

This summer, I wrote about why the First World War affects me so much. The post, cataloging the heartbreak I felt at reading LM Montgomery's Rilla of Ingleside can be found here.

I am finding it difficult to write about this today; I'm missing my Nonno and my Grandpa, both of whom fought in WWII though for opposite sides. Instead, I am going to post some quotes.

In Flanders Fields - by John McRae (of Guelph, ON)

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

"They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them."
Laurence Binyon, The Fallen

Finally, I'm going to quote my entry (warning - SPOILER for RoI if you haven't read it):

"... Maud’s intention – to make the horrors and loss of war real to readers – sure resonated with me. The death of fictional Walter represented the all too real loss of tens of thousands of other young Canadians, full of potential and greatly loved. What a cruel, vicious waste. Reading about WWI is still terribly painful for me, but I feel compelled to do so in order to pay tribute to these kids. And kids they were – when I visited Ypres at the age of 24, NOT ONE person in the Ramparts cemetery was older than me when they died.

Other books have affected me, have made me sob (HPatDH, I’m looking at you for a recent example) but every time one does I think back to Rilla. And say a little prayer for all the Walters lost on both sides of conflicts."

Lest we forget.

Day 4 - Christmas at a Funeral?

As I mentioned on Monday, the gospel reading at my Grandmother's funeral was Luke 2: 1-21, the birth of Jesus. The reasons for this are many.

• My Grandmother LOVED Christmas. She was born just before the big day, on December 17th (my Nonna was actually born on Xmas Day) and it was her absolute favourite time of year. She'd shop for gifts all year long, tucking them away, she would bake up a storm to share with friends and family and she'd prepare an enormous spread on the day.
  
• Her name was Mary. Her parents actually intended to call her Minetta Louise (after both her grandmothers). Her 8 year old brother, Howard, had other plans. "Those names are terrible!" he proclaimed. "It doesn't matter what you name her, though, because I will be calling her Mary." The other names became her middle names and Mary she was named.
• She was born in a chicken coop (not a stable, but close). Her family were living in Scarborough and constructing a house. The only structure on the land was a chicken coop, which my great-grandfather reinforced and made habitable. And that's where Grandma was born!

The real reason, however, has to do with the incredible hardships faced by Mary and Joseph. That part of the tale is often glossed over, but holy cow - what an awful situation.

This past weekend, we helped our friends Joe (Happy Birthday!!) and Isha move into their new house (about 5 minutes away! Woot!). This was significant because Isha was 38 weeks pregnant and totally tired and uncomfortable. I remember how pooped and ungainly I was at that point in pregnancy. And Mary had to ride a donkey for days on end en route to Bethlehem in that condition?

Can you imagine the discomfort? Long days on an animal, the heat, the uncertainty with respect to food, water, and shelter? And finally, having to give birth in a barn, far from family and home? Gah!

My Grandma's family were never well off, and the Depression was particularly hard. My great-grandparents and the kids were incredibly devout, resourceful and hardworking, though, and the family survived. My Grandma was also widowed with two kids and had to run a business all on her own - it was incredibly difficult again. But just like Mary and Joseph, she persevered and immense good came from the hard times. That's why she loved the verse in Corinthians, too - it talks about how "...our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all." She believed that whole-heartedly, and so do I.

Day 2 - All Souls' Day

Today is All Souls' Day; it is also the day of my Grandmother's funeral.

The service was lovely. It took place in the funeral home and, like with my Grandpa Jack, my Dad and I did the readings (I am 3 for 3 at family funerals this year since Rachel and I read at my Aunt Flo's funeral in March). For those of you who are into this sort of thing, my Dad read two pieces - 1 John 3: 1-2 and Revelations 21: 1-7. And I had the good fortune to read my Grandma's favourite passage, 2 Corinthians 4: 7-18. I plan to write more on this when I have a clearer head, since I feel that reflecting on this passage because of her love of it was my Grandma's gift to me.

My Mom's side of the family was out in full force today - My Uncle Sergio brought my Nonna (Sally would have come but for Sierra being home sick), and Aunt Pat, Fred and Leah came all the way from the GTA. They've known my Grandma since they were kids (Serge and Pat were 12 and 9, respectively, when my parents got married) and they'd always loved her. My family - both sides - is just so awesome and I am so blessed to have them around.

I held up pretty well -- Grandma was nearly 93, after all, and she'd been really sick - but I shed a few tears as the priest shared some reflections (and as I'm writing this, if I'm being honest). My grandparents were a fun-loving pair, and one habit (that I'd forgotten about, actually) was how they'd say goodbye. They never wanted to see us go -- we lived a 3 hour drive away -- but they knew that visits couldn't last forever. To wish us fair travels and to make our final memory a happy one, they come outside and pretend to push the car to get it started. Then, they'd either stand in the driveway or (in inclement weather) in the front window and wave until they could no longer see us. I remember craning my neck as far as I could so that I could catch final glimpses of them wishing us a safe journey. It's something so simple and silly, but it was so them.

We had many, many years together and I am so very thankful. I also believe that we'll see each other again, and I am so glad that neither of them are suffering any longer. But I will still miss them very much because it's never easy to lose ones you love. They always LOVED my Aunt Flo, too, so I like to imagine that the three of them are hanging out together tonight.

It's been a really long day (and year, frankly) and I am sorry for the maudlin tone of this post. I know that loss and suffering are unavoidable and can strengthen us immeasurably, but is it wrong that I wouldn't mind a long break before losing any other close family members?

And as a final note, I will share with you the gospel passage: Luke 2: 1-20. It's a gospel passage that I can recite by heart because I have personally had to read it aloud so many times...at Christmas. It's the Birth of Jesus. I'll leave you to ponder why that was proclaimed at my Grandma's funeral. You wouldn't be the only ones puzzled - we all looked at each other when the reading started, thinking "did he hit the wrong page by accident?". There were some interesting reasons, though...

Mary Minetta Louise Selby, December 17, 1916 - October 28, 2009

I'm once again writing to ask for your prayers and good thoughts.

My Grandma died this morning; she was nearly 93. It was not a surprise. She'd been fading for a while, especially since my grandfather died in August. She had been hospitalized while we were on vacation and finally diagnosed with congential heart failure. Right before we got back from California, she was moved into a nursing home, but she was there for under 3 weeks.

She'd been in and out of the hospital for the past 2 weeks; she was moved back to hospice care on Monday. My Mom was convinced that Grandma would die on her birthday, but Grandma held out for a few more hours. Her funeral will be on Monday in Napanee.

It has been a long time coming, but it's still hard to process. My Grandma was a total character, and she's always seemed...larger than life to me. I am going to want to process some of this by writing about my memories of her, so I'm sure that'll show up here.

Grandma outlived both of her husbands, and survived every member of her immediate family by at least 25 years. She nearly died of Thyphoid when she was in her early 20s; as it was, she had to relearn to walk and talk and read during her recovery. She was not afraid of hard work. She was a talker, a total extrovert (I wonder where I get that from?!?). She would never go out unless her hair was done and she'd put on 'her face' of cosmetics. She taught me to sew on an old Singer hand crank machine that had been her mother's. She beat breast cancer in her late 80s.

Her full name was Mary Minetta Louise (Hawley MacDonald) Selby. I love you, Grandma, and I'll miss you always.

Perhaps a break from loss, soon - mmmk?

So - my Grandpa died today. That's three loved ones (Greg included) since March. I actually expected my Grandma to go first, since she's really starting to go downhill, but there you have it. It's almost surreal, since we had almost no warning.

My Grandfather's name was Reginald Jack Selby; everyone called him Jack. He was born in England on May 20, 1923. His mother died when he was young and he was raised by his oldest sister, Nelly. He had two older brothers, one of whom died in WWII. Jack himself served in WWII; he lost his high-pitched hearing operating guns on the Dover coast, then was stationed in Burma. After the war, he moved to Kingston with his surviving brother and worked at RMC for years. It was during his bachelor days in Kingston that he met my Grandma.

Grandma was a widow; she'd lost my Grandpa MacDonald in 1963 and had two kids - my Dad and Aunt Linda. She and Grandpa married in November 1968 (they just celebrated their 40th...6 months before my inlaws did. How funny, no?).

Grandpa was just about the jolliest guy you could ever hope to meet. He liked chips (fries) with EVERYTHING, especially pizza. He ate a cheese sandwich for lunch every.single.day - Grandma lamented that his colleagues must have thought she was the most boring cook on earth, sending him that in his lunch each day! He loved to have a couple pints at the Legion, and was an avowed Liberal and CPAC watcher (the two had to exchange a TV because they couldn't get CPAC on their 2nd TV!). He brought joy to everything he did.

And for a guy who'd never had kids of his own, who inherited teenagers -- did he every love his granddaughters. We shared so many Napanee adventures - trips to Sandbanks and Picton (for FnC), to Bon Echo and (snore) Lake on the Mountain, to the court house, shopping and picnicing -- summer visits with my granparents were the best. And did he ever love Dave! Seriously - he was surrounded by women, especially after they moved into a retirement community. Dave was a favourite, and asking about Dave was the very first thing he did whenever we spoke.

Grandpa loved Teddy, too. We sent pictures, which he proudly showed to everyone in the residence. He was THRILLED that we'd visited with the baby, and was so happy to hug him and bounce him. He joked that Teddy and he had the same hair (ahh - the comeover).

Grandpa had been having some breathing issues for a couple of months, but it appeared to be nothing (or so he said). It turns out that it was lung cancer - a shock for someone who hadn't smoked in at least 50 years (if ever). He was taken to the hospital last night; we first heard the diagnosis this morning. It turns out that he'd found out 2 weeks ago and hadn't wanted to worry anyone. He was comfortable and didn't regain consciousness; he died around 5 p.m.

Man - I loved him. I am so thankful to have had nearly 32 years with him. He was a wonderful man. I named my son after the grandfather I never knew, a man who'd have loved him very much. And I will be sure to teach Teddy all about the Grandpa that I did know, whose presence I am so blessed to have had in my life, the Great Grandpa who loved him to pieces.

Grandpa - Godspeed. Have a pint with Greg, and make sure you give Flo (your favourite...you always loved my aunts) a big hug; she and Nonno will be glad to have your company. I love you so very much.

A warning - depressing posts ahead.

So. The past week has been crappy. I am still processing it, and some of that is going to come out here. I need to write about Greg, reflecting on the good times so I can share the post with Jen and go back to it to remember him in the future. I REFUSE to have my most vivid memories of him be tied to the horrible open coffin, to me sobbing as they played the Stereophonics at his funeral.

I've lost loved ones before. Suicide has touched my life before. But not like this and never this close.

I am going to apologize in advance for the tone of the posts this week - one for Greg and one for my Aunt Flo (who would have been 51 on the 18th). I will post baby pictures again at some point, but I've lost these two loved ones recently and I need to pay them their due.