Isn't it amazing how the older you get the more nostalgic you become?
I have always been a sentimental type but it seems like once I hit my 40s, my nostalgia went into high gear. But this past week, everything came rushing to the surface when a very prominent person from my childhood passed away.
Growing up in McKeesport we had the best neighbors. Our babysitter lived directly across the street. The town candy maker lived right next door and a family, just like ours, lived in a home a few doors down. They had three kids, just like us, in the same order: girl-boy-girl, all around the same age. The dad was a Vietnam vet, just like my dad, and the mom, well...Barb was a God-fearing woman just like my mom.
It came to pass that our families would become real close and the kids all grew up together. Their house was our safe house - in case my brother and I would come home from school and mom wasn't home yet, we were told to go across the street. There was one time I came home from school and my front door was closed.
I assumed no one was there, so I happily skipped down the street. About an hour later, after I had already changed out of my uniform and made myself at home, my mom came to the door, with my baby sister, and frantically told Barb I hadn't come home yet. Seconds later, I appeared in the living room, disappointed to see my mom knowing it was time to go home yet wondering why she was so upset.
I have lots of great memories growing up with what seemed like a "second" family - birthday parties, sleepovers, playing together in the summertime. Barb was only a phone call away and the two moms were able to lean on each other throughout life's ups and downs. And yes, there were plenty of those. Including the time, after my grandfather had just died, that a pep talk from Barb was just what my mom needed to help her get through the loss of her father while continuing to meet the needs of her young family.
It seems a bit ironic that we would find ourselves needing a pep talk of our own as we were saying our goodbyes to Barb nearly 30 years, to the day, after my grandfather passed away.
As the children got older, our families drifted apart. The kids started lives of their own. The closeness that was once there was not the same, but the memories never lost their allure. It was a treat when unexpectedly I would run into my oldest child counterpart and of course the reminiscing would begin - the games we played, the laughs we shared - they would all come flooding back. The benefits of social media allowed us kids to at least keep track of what everyone was up to.
I remember finding out over the summer that Barb was sick. I reached out immediately to try and find out what was going on. The treatment would be aggressive, but doctors were hopeful about her prognosis. Her health took a turn a few weekends ago. Last Wednesday, I received a text stating Barb's suffering was over.
Going to the funeral home was hard. Looking at her peaceful face, I could tell things had not been easy for her. I knelt there waiting, hoping for that warm, Italian smile that lit up a room. The smile that made you feel special and welcomed all at the same time. The memories came into focus as photographs told the story of years well lived.
Hearing my friend cry, overcome with grief at the loss of her mother, my heart broke. I was not prepared for the raw emotion I both witnessed and expressed. I realized how much Barb had meant to me and how much I was touched by her faithful, loving, humorous nature. We shared a lot of laughs over the years and for that I will always be grateful.
Speaking to one of Barb’s granddaughters at the funeral home, I had a familiar feeling. There I was speaking to someone I had never had a conversation with, yet I felt like I had known her all of my life. I felt special and welcomed all at the same time.
Barb hasn’t travelled far. She will live on in a vibrant way through the ones she left behind. For those of us lucky enough to have known her personally, we know sometimes angels dwell among us.
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