Open Ended Invitations ...

She came into this world on Halloween. She celebrated 87 birthdays. She left us New Years Eve ...

She was my aunt. My mom's sister. My cousins' mom. A wife. A grandma. A great grandma. A cousin. A mother-in-law. A sister-in-law. A friend.

My aunt and my mom married brothers. They raised the first parts of their families in 'the hills'. We could see their farm from the top of the hill at our farm. My sisters and my aunt's older children were close to the same age. Both of my sisters wished Mom had lots of kids like Jean did (she had six at the time). They made lots of memories together in those hills. The closeness that our family shares with theirs started in infancy ...

The years went on. Jean remarried and moved to 'the city'. More years elapsed and our family moved 'out West'. Jean started her second family when she remarried. The second part of Mom & Dad's family (me & my brother) are close in age to Jean's three younger children. Despite the wide age range among both of our families, we were destined to be close.

As a kid, I didn't see my aunts and uncles for the cousins. My childhood memories are vague but what I do remember is that Jean's home 'felt' the same as our home. Mom & Jean ran their houses in a very similar manner. The food wasn't too 'scary' at Jean's (I was a very fussy eater and both Jean & Mom were very basic cooks).

As an adult, I moved to the city that my aunt and uncle had made home. They were my port in the storm. There was much drama surrounding that move and they did everything they could to make it easier for me. The words "Thank You" did not encompass my gratitude. I wondered aloud how in the world I could ever repay them for their kindness. I can't remember Jean's exact words but they were something to the effect that there could come a time when they may be the ones in need of a favor and it would all work out in the end.

Five years ago, I called Jean and approached her with the idea of writing a book about Mom's family story. The memories and realities of what their growing up years were really like. I interviewed Jean first. We sat down at her dining room table and she told me the story of her life. She wrote pages and pages of her memories. We looked at pictures. I listened to stories. This was the beginning of a journey that I was meant to travel. I talked to Mom and the rest of her family and started piecing together all of their collective memories. We wrote a book together.

When I started collecting memories from Dad's family once again, I went to Jean first. She had married Dad's brother and she worked for Dad's mother. She had memories that no one else did. She talked. I listened. She reminisced. She lent me her cherished photo albums so that I could illustrate the stories.

I talked with all of Mom & Dad's siblings. But talking with Jean led the way. Knowing Jean as well as I did gave me the courage to know my other aunts and uncles. Jean was the key that helped me unlock this precious gift of  knowing my family ...

Each and every visit with Jean ended with the words, "Drop by. Any time!" I knew that she meant it because their home was a revolving door of friends and family. Everyone knew where they kept their spare key. "Come on in!" was the unspoken welcome as you stepped onto their doorstep. They created a family and a home that I longed to emulate. A home that welcomed all. They gave so much and expected nothing in return.

I wish that I had taken Jean up on her kind offer more often. Her open invitation did not come with an expiry date. But she did ...

I was in Jean's neighborhood just a few days before she went into the hospital this last time. I had an overwhelming urge to drop in but the logical side of my brain talked me out of it. There is a great likelihood that Jean wouldn't have been up to company ... but there is a better chance that my uncle may have needed some.

If I have learned anything this past few weeks, it is not to ignore that inner voice. I knew that I should have dropped by. But I talked myself out of it. I went to see Jean when she was in the hospital. But I should have dropped by to visit her at home more often. Open ended invitations do not last forever.