Change of Heart.

I never really liked the woman. I’m not even sure why. We never seemed to see eye to eye on anything. But at her memorial service, today I saw a different woman in her, a woman that I could have liked. Indeed, in retrospect, I do like.

Her husband, burdened with Parkinson’s, the great veins sticking out on his face, scabrous and ashen and bowed. He put on a good front for a woman he loved and respected. Her granddaughter, singing Panis Angelicus to the accompaniment of her boyfriend’s guitar, as it was her gransdmother’s favourite. Her sister-in-law, discomposed at the granddaughter’s singing, trying to get on, and succeeding as she has for her whole life. Her brother, the Master of Ceremonies, as he loves to be, pontificating. Her nieces’ emails from Boston and from Chicago, remembering sewing doll clothes and adventures to Duck Rock.

All those people who loved her. They spoke of her patience and her tranquility. They spoke of her kindness. They spoke of her sense of humour. All things I would like to be remembered for.

I’d like to think we might have seen eye to eye on some things after all.

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