Dear Diane,

We made it through the 29th without any major issues. Actually, ewe made it without minor issues, too. It’s been a good day.

I just returned from walking Max for the 2nd time today. He’s really such a good little critter and I thank God every day for leading you to him. He’s a blessing, as are you.

Today I’m going to share something Lydia wrote that I really like. It’s mainly about you so it’s relevant, and she said it would be OK to share. This is about her experience at Diane’s memorial service on November 8th.

I quote Lydia

I didn’t think it would hit the way it did. Out of nowhere. Unexpectedly. On some level I should’ve known, it was  my first Christmas without her. But all day we went to church and sang and ate, spent time together laughing and opening gifts. But… But then it was 9:15 and I was sitting in an ugly yellow pew. An ugly yellow pew that wasn’t ugly at all because it was hers.

It was 9:15, in an ugly yellow pew and we were singing some Christmas hymn that was much too high, and then I was crying. He held me. I looked away from the screen with the words and my eye snagged on the candles. All the sudden I was 7 and she was showing my how t hold the wick, when to walk, how fast to walk, where to stop and bow before stepping up in front of His portrait and lighting the candles. Slowly, from left to right.

Then I was 10, it was unreasonably hot outside, but not here, not standing with her amongst the pews strewn with rows of handmade quilts. She remembered to show up early and turn on the AC. I only wanted the soup downstairs, but she made me stop and look at the quilts first.

Then I was 12, my brothers and I trying to shrink while pastor stood with his guitar calling the children forward. We thought we were too old to be considered children. She nudged us out of our seats, told us to snag a candy cane for her.

Then I was 13, standing over the heater again waiting for everyone to show up for choir practice.

16 sitting in the basement eating little sandwiches off of pretty floral trays with her and her friends.

18 and singing, 19 sneaking spiked spiced cider, 22 and chasing the boys through the basement as they giggled and she rolled her eyes, 24 and singing Hosiana next to her. The last time we sang it together.

26. 26 and sitting in the front pew. That ugly yellow pew. In a black dress. Family next to and behind me. Tears streaming, pastor speaking, her picture staring back at me. Pretty yellow flowers next to the candles, as I let her go. Or so I thought.

Because then I was 26. Sitting in an ugly yellow pew on Christmas Eve again, staring at the candles, listening to the hymns with tears streaming as my first Christmas without her passed. The organ was playing and people were singing, but all I could hear was her laugh, her scolding us for running, or standing over the heater while my dress puffed up. All I could see was her smile, her eyes rolling, her face.

Mom sang with the crowd, he held my hand, and I cried.

End Quote

I found this to be quite profound and a tribute to you and a little about how much she loves you. An addendum to her narrative is about the “he” she refers to. I asked and she said it was Jared, her boyfriend. He’s a stellar guy and will one day be a valuable member of the family. Heck, he’s already a family member. I glad you got to meet him before you left us.

Now I must bid you good night. I love you and I miss you.

Jerrie

PS — Here’s another favorite photo of you.