A celebration

and the story of a sister

It’s been quiet over here at Delicious Bits.

But that doesn’t mean there hasn’t been a flurry of activity stage left. These past few weeks my sister Paula and I have been in the throes of planning a Celebration of Life for our beloved sister Lucia.

Just writing that last sentence down still seems surreal, somehow not true. A figment of my imagination gone awry, as we sorted through photos, chose the setting, mapped out the décor. A heavy task yet one filled with the possibility of joy and infinite gratitude.

cel·​e·​brate /ˈseləˌbrāt/

1. to do something special or enjoyable for an important event, occasion, holiday, etc.

2. formal : to praise (someone or something) : to say that (someone or something) is great or important

To celebrate a life is to undertake an almost impossible task: to, in a few short hours, sum up a life’s worth of meaning. It’s made all the more difficult because it’s an event you don’t ever want to plan for, even when it’s clear that it must be so.

And yet, in the planning, there are deeper places to go that crack your heart wide open and let both gladness and sorrow in.

There are mementos to gather and laugh and cry over. A young girl’s white Sunday gloves. A high school yearbook’s cheerleaders’ photo. A university diploma hard-earned as a single mother who was also working fulltime. Family portraits: a toddler on a pony; a first Communion; a tearful child with her young tender mother.

No Queen of Egypt had as loving a gathering of life treasures to take to the beyond as Lucia.

com·mu·ni·ty /kəˈmjuːnəti/

1. A group of people living in the same place or having a particular characteristic in common.

2. A feeling of fellowship with others, as a result of sharing common attitudes, interests, and goals.

When we lose something dear, we find our deepest consolation in surrounding ourselves with community, those that share our pain, require no commitments from us, comfort us with presence that goes beyond words. Yet we struggle to tarry in that place of grief too long, lest it overwhelm us.

But it will not, can not. Perhaps we might look to the majestic and wise elephant to better understand how communal grieving is part of the circle. In the tight-knit world of elephant herds, the strength of social bonds is nothing short of remarkable. When grief touches one of these gentle giants, the whole community instinctively rallies around them. Through tender touches and soft vocalizations, they offer solace to their mourning member, a poignant reminder of their deeply social nature.

Observing elephants as they respond to loss is to witness a profound understanding of mortality. These beautiful creatures don't just recognize death; they feel its impact deeply, expressing palpable sadness and loss. What might appear as mere instinctive reactions are, in fact, complex rituals. These rituals reveal the power of collective endurance and the resilience of the living, where community support is not just helpful but essential in navigating a landscape of loss.

com·fort /ˈkəmfərt/

1. a state of physical ease and freedom from pain or constraint.

2. the easing or alleviation of a person's feelings of grief or distress.

In memories, we recall. In stories, we find comfort. Like the best of momentous occasions, our celebration last weekend brought together people who have not seen one another for years, who had never met, but who were all there to honour Lucia. In three short hours, we heard and shared stories, saw her life unfolding in photos and vignettes that marked the milestones of her life. We lingered over a table full of bracelets she had made, and that each women in attendance could choose as a token of a generous and vibrant human, alive in the room and present with us.

While I will find another way and space for the words I wrote to honour Lucia, I offer a story that was shared with us by a long time friend of Lucia’s.

LouAnne was the name I knew her by and she was a constant shining light. We met when she joined our "chicks for a cure" 3-day breast cancer walk team and from that moment on she became a staple in my life. LouAnne and I were a part of a book club and I loved when she hosted, she was an amazing cook and I always walked away with a recipe. She stepped in when I was going through a very painful divorce. She brought me self-help books, which I have passed on to others going through the same, she held my hand and told me there were better days ahead. That first year after the divorce she took my daughter shopping for a Mother’s Day gift for me. It was a simple gift but had such a huge impact on me. I still have that gift in my cedar chest; it might be my favorite Mother’s Day gift I ever received. Throughout the years she would send me knitting books and little notes to remind me that she was still thinking of me even though she had moved far away. She was a beautiful person, with a kind heart and a gorgeous soul. I will miss her dearly and am thankful that she was in my life. Her love will always be imprinted on my heart.

That was my sister.

While we have taken joy in the planning and making this a celebration worthy of Lucia, there has been immeasurable grief too. As I travel on this very difficult and unexpected journey, a quote someone shared with me after we lost Lucia has been on my mind constantly:

“Grief and love are sisters, woven together from the beginning. Their kinship reminds us that there is no love that does not contain loss and no loss that is not a reminder of the love we carry for what we once held close.”

Grief and love—sisters indeed. And like, sisters, inseparable, part of the whole. To love deeply is to experience joy and sorrow in equal measure. I would not trade my lifetime of deep love for Lucia for the well of grief inside me today. As I weave this grief into the fabric of my life, the thread of Lucia shines with a brilliance all its own.