I come here to speak of a friend I helped to bury yesterday.
I met Sylvia when I first went to the “Adult Friendship Club” lunch. She spotted the newbie instantly, and I no doubt looked like a poor lost waif as I was still reeling from the death of my husband. She said hello, introduced herself and a half dozen other people, and insisted I sit beside her. She is the one who welcomed me into the community (mainly by getting there ahead of anyone else - she was not shy). She was elderly then, using a cane, and over time that became a walker.
Briefly, she was in a nursing home but that turned into a nightmare, then covid hit. Her family and the community were able to “jailbreak” her and bring her home and give her the 24/7 care she needed there, although it was very hard, as it always is.
On Monday she passed away. I wish I could have said peacefully, in her sleep, but it was not so kind. No, it was not covid. One of the pains of this pandemic is that I could not visit her in person. Yes, there are rapid tests but they are not perfect and none of us wanted to take the risk. Visitors were very limited, but I sent cards and conveyed my thoughts and wishes to her. Now, she is out of pain, and at peace.
In accordance with Jewish custom the funeral and burial came soon after. It happened that I was off work yesterday and could attend and help lay her to rest. There were tears and laughter and sighs, then we went to the cemetery, she was lowered into the earth, and we took turns with the shovel (I hear some places it’s just “handfuls” of earth. Nope, here in northwest Indiana it’s a wheelbarrow of dirt and garden spades).
As it happens, Tuesday is also the day our grief group meets, which she had also been a part of (she’d outlived two husbands) so there was more reminiscing.
Experiencing both sadness and relief this morning. And yes, her memory is a blessing.