This is from something I wrote for Mal's wake. I am feeling a bit better today, it has been very emotional and I have been crying a lot since last Friday.
Dear Mal,
How can it possibly be that 96 years just wasn’t enough? How can it be that we feel so heartbroken and empty upon losing you? I would give anything to have had you for just awhile longer…a few days maybe…a few weeks even. We thought you would be here for a bit longer, and we could have your love guiding us and keeping us whole like only you could.
Everyone has been telling stories about you, and inevitably the stories end with laughter, everyone laughing at your wit and charm. I know there were many sides to you, that you were a complex man. But not all the stories are about my Mal. If you ever uttered an unkind word, I never heard it. If you were rude or sarcastic, I never knew it. When you saw me, your smile enveloped me and I felt truly loved. I knew you were always thinking of me. You were affectionate and kind, so happy to see me.
Your house, so important to you, was important to all of us. When we would sleep over the cereal bowls were always ready on the kitchen table in the morning, the Captain Crunch and milk ready to be poured. You’d greet us with kisses and smiles, and ask if we had washed our face and hands. And we’d always answer yes, even if we hadn’t – we didn’t want to disappoint you.
We’d play cards with Grammy and you’d accuse her of “stealing all the picture cards.” You’d throw your cards down in mock disgust when she won and accuse her of cheating. She’d smile, knowing you were teasing her. And of course, when it was time to go home, there was a dollar for our pocket and the words “go easy.”
Mal, Mary tucked a few pieces of Bazooka gum into your pocket. I’d forgotten all about the boxes of Bazooka in the pantry. It was such a treat for us, and you weren’t happy until our mouths were stuffed full and the wrappers with comic strips had been read and laughed over. When Mary told us of this, we sobbed, startled by a memory that suddenly seemed so raw.
When I became a mother, you were one of the first people to see Carmella. When you held her in your arms, you both fell instantly in love. The kids talked about you all the time and loved to come visit you. I wish we could have even just one more visit, just to see your smile.
Nobody will ever have your grace, dignity and love. Nobody will ever be loved as you were loved. And we, your children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, can only hope to make you proud and be worthy of your love. When the time comes that we can truly accept that you are gone, maybe I can laugh at the stories without a lump in my throat and the desire to sob out loud, but for now,
Go easy Mal,
We love you and miss you.
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