IN MEMORY OF...
My mother used to read my blog, and she was
always one of the first to write back with a comment, nothing lengthy, but
enough to let me know that it made her laugh, think, or peer into my mind just a little bit more (I think she understood it was a very crowded place!).
So, in honor of her, this is a very small
testament to who she was - as it’s always hard to encapsulate a person in mere
words.
‘Anne I Can’… this was my mother’s moniker. Anyone that knew her would know
how fitting this was. She simply could, and DID and of course she made it look
utterly effortless, usually dressed to the nines and bejeweled, without
breaking a sweat.
She taught us so many things: dignity, grace, elegance, and of course as
children, how to wear a silk scarf as a belt.
The night before she passed we were all in the kitchen giving her a chance
to rest. She said to my sister: “why on earth are they in there, they should
come in here.” Cause that was Anne, total sense. So my four sisters and I went
in the room and gathered round her bed. We surprised her with a small cup of
wine in an espresso cup. She took one look at it and said “Are you mad? I want
it in a proper glass!” That was also Anne. No small measures and propriety
always reigned supreme. Then of course we poured her an inch and again, we got
that look that only Anne could deliver, “Is that all I get!?”
That night we laughed, and cried and shared memories of our lives together
and it is a night I know that my sisters and I will never forget. The next morning my mother's first words to me were about how much the previous evening meant to her, how it put life in perspective. Not long after, she passed on, peacefully and with such grace.
‘Anne I Can’ was such a unique, enchanting, beautiful force of a woman.
When people met her they always had a story to tell of how she left her mark on
them; sometimes it was simply being a recipient of her charm, or how she made
them feel like they were the only ones in the room; for others it was marveling
at her elegance and dignity in the face of life. She was curious and direct to
a fault. She was fiercely private to the point that most people did not know even know she was sick. She would laugh till she’d cry. She could hold a plank
longer than anyone I’ve known (at 74!). She came to love her leopard print
almost as much as her art. She would leave you an accidental 5 minute voice
message as she could never get her car phone system to work: “Amanda, HOME. Amanda
HOME, Cancel. Expletive!” You could smell her vanilla perfume before she
entered a room and the click of her sandals. She had a five-tier yawn. She was
loyal, and discreet, and had a light that truly emanated from within. And she
had a million dollar smile that you simply could not forget.
She loved us girls fiercely and raised five strong, assertive, curious,
vibrant women that will proudly carry a part of her within us forever. She will
simply be missed beyond words.