|She's turned her back on her own funeral and the mourners gathered behind her.|
Her bags are packed and she's on her way.
We spent about 40 years at odds with each other.
She had a way of saying exactly what she was thinking which probably made her the effective high school teacher that she was, but not so successful at some social/family interaction which is often based on subtleties.
Being subtle wasn't her strong suit.
So when she first got sick I went to see her more out of a sense of duty than anything else.
She was very upset - the only time I saw her like that. The next time I went she was better, her husband was back and she was settled into a routine. At the time they were thinking there was a hospital in Hamilton that could help her.
I went to see her every few weeks and we talked of so many things, her grandchildren, my recovery from cancer, our younger years, how she so enjoyed it when her brother took her outside to feel the sun on her face, how delicious a meal from McDonald's tasted after hospital food when her husband brought it in. We laughed about Donald Trump - she was very interested in everything.
Unfortunately every time I visited another door was closing for her. Hamilton couldn't help her, stem cell research was not possible, etc.
But never once did she exhibit any signs of distress or depression. When I told her I thought she was a hero the way she was handling everything she struggled to turn her head looked right at me and said, "Francie, I'm no hero."
But she was.
And she possessed an inner strength that I can only marvel at.
She died the way and at the time she chose to die.
I will miss her.