Lessons of Love

I'm blessed with a large and loving family. And one of them is dying.

Amazing that I feel so close to them, considering I was raised in Tampa and most of my relatives are located in New York and Pennsylvania. I credit my mom, who taught us to revere family and cherish our personal history. So when we'd gather during holidays or vacations, I'd usually sit at the table with grownups and listen - no, *memorize* - all the stories.

One day maybe I'll write them down so future generations can smile and say, "Wow, that's where I get it from!"

Learned a lot from such stories. Like how to grow old with grace, dignity, and humor.

Especially humor.

Nana and two of her sisters, Alice and Marie, suffered from macular degeneration. We'd call them the Three Blind Mice. Fiercely independent, such a disease, crippling to some, barely registered. In their seventies, Nana, Marie, and Alice got along with special glasses and learned how to fold money and tell time in different ways so that they'd be able to come and go as they pleased. Hardly needed help at all.

Sometimes Nana would surprise the hell out of me by finding one of my lost earrings or a necklace in the carpet, leading to laughter and accusations that she was faking the whole "going blind" nonsense.

Once, Nana and Marie were in Florida, visiting us at the same time. Marie's son Tommy took them on a drive to Bradenton and The Golden Girls wanted to stop and get something to eat. Tommy pulled into a parking lot and said,

"Here we are, ladies. Go and get a table while I park the car."

They walked inside, peering around for a hostess or waiter and finding only Twinkies instead.

Tommy had pulled into a gas station.

They laughed at themselves and Tommy for being "so bold."

Explains a lot about my family. Explains a lot about me.

And now Aunt Marie, Nana's last surviving sibling, is fading fast. My cousins - her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren - are with her every moment.

She is never alone.

She is surrounded by love.

I called her yesterday and Tommy warned she might be confused.

"Do you want to talk to Katie?" he asked.

"Katie," she said, unsure, and my heart stopped for a second.

(long pause)

"Do you mean, Catherine Ann?" she asked.

Yes, older relatives continue to call me by my full name - the name my mother gave me at birth. The name I used to roll my eyes at as a kid. Sounded too old-fashioned.

Now I love it. And so I melted with a flood of memories as she took the phone.

Those memories are going to come out sooner or later.

Because although I will lose beloved members of my family, I will not lose our stories. Or the lessons they taught me.