Last Updated on April 19, 2024
Barbara: I had not even an inkling. You could’ve sent me some sort of little vibe. Perhaps a tiny winged message. I am shocked. But not really surprised. You’re gone.
What was I doing when you left? I intend to learn the hour of your passing. I want to picture myself, what I was doing at that moment. Was it during church? during the potluck after church? that afternoon reading the Sunday paper? meeting with the tax guy? Mine was a day of leisure as you drifted into…what? Wouldn’t we all love to know.
How happy I am that we visited barely four months ago. An overnight, at that. I confess: As we parted, I did think it might be the last time.
You know, don’t you, Barbara, you know that you were the last buffer between me and the big D. Now I’m on the frontline, the cutting edge, as it were. I don’t exactly like being in this position. I kind of depended on knowing that you at least were ahead of me. Now there’s no one ahead of me.
When I have talked about you, I have often said, “my aunt-by-marriage Barbara.” Married to my biological Uncle Buddy, 20 years older than you. You occupied a half-generation position. So even after my uncle and my parents left, you were there.
I am aware, Barbara, that both you and my older sister (another buffer, though a small one, being closer to my age) have gone in the same year. 2024. The year of my 80th.
I immediately informed the few others in the family – that is, the following generation. They remember you from their childhood. They responded with memories of you like, “very intriguing” and “effervescent” and “stylish.” And indeed you were all those…and more. I am now the buffer for them. I will try to maintain that place for as long as I can. If at all possible, I will attempt to convey a vibe, a message to them when my moment comes so that they can mark the passage and assume the role of buffer for those that follow.
Goodbye, Barbara. I choose to believe that we will meet again. Love, Julie