Yesterday, Alexandra from the blog Good Day Regular People (my roommate at BlogHer and my friend) had to say goodbye to her mother. She first said goodbye on Monday, and in her own words, it was like this: “She gave us two deep sighs, then sailed away on poems and roses.”
Alexandra then said goodbye again in her eulogy at the funeral yesterday, and proclaimed a truth I know well from personal experience: “That’ll be the easy part. It’s the days that will follow, after our frenzied pace has passed, that will leave us bone weary and looking at the thousands of steps before us that we now have to take, without them.”
Erin and Dana contacted some of Alexandra’s friends with a means of showing support, though we are all so far away. They proposed a way we could proclaim our solidarity, and by doing so, prove that a lot of the friendships we make online are as real as they come.
The idea was this: let us celebrate a pastime with our own families that her family enjoyed before her mother passed away. They ate ice cream together.
If you want to join in (and really, who doesn’t want to go out for ice cream?), you can use this hashtag on twitter to signal that you have lit your candle (licked your cones) in her honour: #icecreamforAlexandra.
It’s more than ice cream, obviously. It’s about taking time out of routine to nurture the relationships that matter. I got to see my own mom this past week when we visited the Carolinas, and I’ll post about that soon. I’m grateful my parents are all young (my parents and their spouses) and I’m grateful I’m not cheated out of time with them, even though they live far away. I’m grateful they are young and spry enough to come visit us in France. And when I hear about Alexandra’s loss, I’m grateful that I have just a little more time. Knowing her, I think she would want this for me.
The thing I first noticed about the ice cream place we chose was that it carried my son’s name.
The second thing was that it talked about angels. I thought Alexandra would really appreciate that detail.
And everything was homemade, which is kind of a mom thing in my eyes.
And they had sugar cones with sprinkles.
We ate at the picnic table outdoors
with friends and family
licking cones and enjoying our time together,
exploring the terrain
and stopping to sniff the flowers.
It’s a good thing, stopping to taste.
It’s a good thing, stopping to look, and touch, and smell.
It’s a good thing to love this much . . .
even though this much love sometimes means pain.