Saturday will be your funeral. And though I can’t be there, I hope it’s everything you wanted. For a change. I feel guilty about not going – but I spent three great days with you a couple of weeks ago. Well, not great for you, of course. But you were there, and we talked, and we communed, and we prayed, and we said goodbye. I hope you felt the love I have for you, and the love my mom has for you. I hope you felt that and that it maybe gave you some sort of comfort.
I hope it mattered.
I remember your bright red convertible and driving through Omaha with the top down, your blonde hair blowing back. I remember your pink motorcycle and that apartment with the loft. I remember that first house where you and Tony lived and listening to John Mellencamp on vinyl. That giant waterbed and … were those mirrors on the ceiling?
I don’t wanna know. I remember trips to “Children’s Palace” (before it became a Toys-R-Us) and riding go-karts at Peony Park. I remember so much love.
And I remember your beautiful home in Elk Horn, and the way you went all out decorating for Christmas. And going out to your garage to smoke. And the little dogs that you would dress up for Halloween. Yes, I still think it’s unfair that you didn’t win the contest that one year. What a scam.
But that week we spent together in Florida, when I was working at Disney and you were in heaven because you got my free passes and my employee discount, that was the best. The long conversations we had over dinners at Epcot, and just walking around the happiest place on earth and reconnecting after years. Somewhere, somewhere is that photo we took just after riding the Everest coaster. So much love.
But what lessons do we take from your life? Yes, the memories I have are filled with fun, laughter and love. But was that your life? Is that how you saw it? Or did you only see the burdens you bore?
It will always be easier to remember the good times and to keep those in my heart. But Cindy I think the biggest lesson you taught me is that life is hard, unfair, nasty, brutal, and short. And yet you laughed and smiled – or tried to. But in the end, I think it was all too much for you. You couldn’t fake it anymore; the pain you hid from others took its own toll on you eventually. That’s what I think.
We love to look back on a life with joy in our remembering, but yours was also full of so much pain and hurt and loss. And I think it’s important to remember that as well. All the dreams you had and put aside for others. Where did your selfless love get you? Everything you gave up so that others could have more — I hope it mattered.