Earlier this month, Frank and I were in Marlborough, MA to attend the funeral of my husband’s aunt, Dorothy Francis.
Last time Frank and I were in Marlborough, we were caring for our baby granddaughter Hanah while her mother Elizabeth was working on the East Coast. It was 2017, and Frank and Liz and I were enjoying another mouthwatering, beautifully served celebration of life that was supper at Uncle George and Aunt Dorothy’s.
We gave the baby to Aunt Dorothy to hold, and my husband took a picture. It was priceless. Aunt Dorothy in her late-80s, holding Frank’s baby granddaughter. At home Frank placed the photo next to a photo of Aunt Dorothy from 1952, when she was twenty-one, holding Frank when he was a baby.
Aunt Dorothy near the beginning and near the end of her life, each time holding a baby. Just like, for all her life, she held so many friends and family in love and care.
Dorothy, the Internet-savvy promoter of family connections. Dorothy, the cherisher of family news and family stories. Dorothy, the peacemaker. Dorothy, part of a loving marriage of 70 years. Dorothy, raising five children and launching them successfully into the world. Dorothy and George, providing in their home at 33 Kane Street a love-filled anchor for children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren, serving up great meals, swimming in the pool, love, attention, and a listening ear, year after year, generation after generation.
In early August, we said farewell to Dorothy in a service bright with light and love.
Then we gathered outside the funeral home. Traveled in procession to the cemetery. Poured out of cars and trucks into the bright sunshine of a perfect New England summer day, breezy, in the 70s, under sunny blue skies.
The summer air that day was thick with love, awash with it, as tangible as light.
Sometimes, I think, the piled-up love and affection of a lifetime comes back after a person dies and hovers, like the best of sunsets, lingering over those left behind.
We ate a luncheon together, all the mourners, and then lingered, slow to part, clinging to love and memories, loath to leave this love-filled moment and return to our ordinary lives.
Farewell, Aunt Dorothy.
Farewell.
And Well Done.
May all of us who wait here in harbor, our ships not yet ready to sail, may we live half as well as you did. May we leave our own small legacies of love and servanthood and caring for others. May we create our own piled-up treasure of moments of love and grace and compassion, to linger on and bless those we leave behind, when we sail.