My Memories of March 13, 1990

Uncle Bill, Mom and Grandma - April 4, 1953

I just came indoors after shovelling the latest few centimetres of snow off the driveway and sidewalk as flurries continue to blow in from Lake Huron. Throughout the day I have been thinking about March 13th thirty-two years ago, a day that was unseasonably warm and spring-like. 

Grandma D had a heart attack three days earlier and had declined to have a pacemaker inserted. I didn't get to see her in the hospital but Mom and my uncle, along with my brother Mark and one of my cousins were with her when she died. Grandma lived independently in the community until she was admitted to the hospital even though she had become frailer at the age of almost 94 years old. 

I was reading today how Queen Elizabeth at 95 years old is no longer able to walk outdoors with her Corgies or stand for long periods as she has become weaker since her hospitalization in October 2021. Age sometimes creeps unseen upon those we love most, those whom we have relied on and think are invincible. 

Grandma was a realist who lived practically and graciously and died with dignity. I was too young and willingly blind to see that she was aging and relied on her for advice and support until the end. She never talked about her own aches and pains and always directed her conversations toward others. Grandma gave up driving her car on her own after having a minor accident and moved from her large house five years before she died, downsizing to a condominium apartment a couple of blocks away. She loved her family deeply and unconditionally and adored her grandchildren and great-grandchildren. She was a good friend to many people.

Today I read the compelling short novel The Bridge of San Luis Rey by Thornton Wilder. The book tells the stories of five people who died when a bridge collapsed in Peru in 1714. It closes with these lines which were read by Tony Blair at the 9/11 Memorial service in New York City.

"But soon we will die, and all memories of those five will have left earth, 

and we ourselves shall be loved for a while and forgotten. 

But the love will have been enough; 

all those impulses of love return to the love that made them. 

Even memory is not necessary for love. 

There is a land of the living and a land of the dead, 

and the bridge is love. 

The only survival, the only meaning."