Sometimes you will never know the value of a moment until it becomes a memory.

~ Dr. Suess

This post is a little different than usual. This one is personal. And still very raw.

Often times there are no words to describe the loss of a loved one. The person you couldn’t imagine doing life without has gone. Life as you’ve known it until now will never be the same. It won’t necessarily be bad, but there will forever be a part of you missing. There will be times when you want to pick up the phone and tell them something exciting that just happened. Or times when you need to hear their voice and those words of wisdom or encouragement as you go through one of life’s struggles. The emptiness of the loss will be felt in great magnitude as you go through life. Sure, it will grow to be less and less painful as time goes on, but it will never ever be completely gone. The pain of losing someone you love so much, leaves a hole in your life that will forever change who you are.

May 12th, 2016, our family experienced the loss of one of our most vibrant, vocal, and much loved family members. She was a wife of 43 years and 1 day. A mother of 4. A grandmother of 10. A sister. A daughter. A friend… and my Aunty. Other than my own mother, and grandmother, she was one of the few women who fill my childhood memories. She gave me my first best friend in her daughter, Jodi. She was my netball coach and cheer leader. She was fierce, loyal, inarguably bias and often times very, very loud.

The inevitable finally arrived. The day we knew would happen, but dared to think about. The day you breathed your last. While we are all relieved that you are no longer in pain, we miss you already…

This past December I flew home to spend one final Christmas as a family with Aunty Lorna. She was diagnosed 8 months ago with an aggressive form of cancer that would take its toll on her a lot sooner than any of us could imagine. Our family is close. Our family is loud. Our family loves fiercely. And, our family still actually really like one another….(most of the time!) One of my greatest regrets about living overseas is that my children miss this camaraderie that my extended family enjoy. I grew up with all of my cousins and now they are growing up with each other’s children. I miss those times and I miss them for my children.

While I was home, I took family photos for Uncle Lindsay. As hard as it was to plan, I kept telling my cousins, you will never regret taking them, but you will regret it if you don’t. The love my Uncle Lindsey has for Aunty Lorna is unquestionable. The strength, support, patience and example he set for his children, grand children, nieces and nephews is one we had never seen. He promised to love her and protect her, in sickness and in health, and that is exactly what he did, up until Aunty Lorna peacefully passed away the day after their 43rd wedding anniversary.

The honest truth is, as painful as it was to think about and organize everyone coming together for the photos, Uncle Lindsay and my cousins now have those last family photographs with Aunty Lorna. It’s not that they didn’t have photos, trust me, they have plenty. Boxes full, in fact. But this was as much for my cousins and their children as it was for Uncle Lindsay and Aunty Lorna. I would never say it is easy knowing someone you love is sick and will inevitably pass away, but you at least have time. Time to have those conversations. Time to get things in order. Time to make sure you have that one last kiss. But time can be cruel. It can drag on forever and then in a blink of an eye, it’s gone. As hard as it was to take those photos, knowing they would be the last family photos with Aunty Lorna feeling okay, I can’t imagine the pain of not having them now, to have and to hold.

The day we took these photos was a day of celebration. It wasn’t one of sadness and grief. Of course, we all knew the reality that lay ahead, but in that moment, we celebrated the undying love of a husband and wife. The relentless love of a mother. The tender love of a grandmother. And even now, as we look at those photos with tears in our eyes, we know that we stood there that day knowing the value of the moment. Knowing the value of our time left together. Nothing was taken for granted. And we didn’t allow time to simply become a memory.

To Uncle Lindsay, Jodi, Mark, Rachel and Tenille, and all of your families, we will always remember Aunty Lorna for the loud, often crude, but always fiercely passionate woman that she was. While our hearts ache, the legacy she left behind will live strong forever. We love you.

 

Lorna Anne Oliver ~ The Life. The Love. The Legacy.