Mom was crying, Daddy trying to comfort her. For a time, I associated the late night phone call, with sadness. It had made my mother cry! Big Memere, had died. At that early age of seven, death had never crossed my path.
Big Memere, as she was affectionately called by my sister and I, was our Great Grandmother. Although she spoke only French, she understood everything we said. Whenever she saw us, a big hug and kiss and with the thickest of French-Canadian accents, it was always, " oh babies!". Mom and our Memere, Big Memere's oldest daughter, would then carry on in French. Although they assumed we didn't understand, these visits were frequent and through sheer repetition, we could almost always get the gist of the conversations.
Although my Mother's immediate family was just her mother, her extend family was huge. Big Memere and Pepere had sixteen children. With multiple sets of twins, survival of both babies born in the first two decades of the twentieth century, we're slim. By the time my sister and I entered this world, Big Mem and Pep had only had eight surviving children, four boys, four girls.
Our Memere had been married, we never knew her husband and no one ever spoke of him, unless we missed that part of the French conversation. Hmmm, could of been a good thing, all we knew was that he was mean and had left our Memere and Mom. Mom's brother Roland died at age ten, during the outbreak of polio in the 1930's. Mom and Memere missed him dearly, their words were always so kind when his name was mentioned.
Now, my mother's sadness was the result of her grandmother's death. After much deliberation it was decided, although young, I would be allowed to attend big Memere's wake. Thinking back, I can still visualize my great grandmother. Hands folded, rosary beads intertwined amongst the arthritic looking dead fingers, every wrinkle on her older than dirt face covered with makeup, this did not look like the Big Memere, who welcomed me with open arms, let me sit on her lap, as she sat rocking in her chair next to the old green kerosene stove. Not the best looking woman I had ever seen, but her smile always radiated warmth and welcome.
Big Memere, the matriarch of this clan, had helped raise my mother. Some of her younger children were within a couple years of my Mother's age, making them more like siblings than her aunts and uncles. Mom was devastated by Big Memere's passing.
As we made our way to view the body, a small kneeler had been place alongside the coffin. Mom and Dad knelt down, instructing my sister and I to stand on either side of them. Looking back the quietness of the moment disturbed me. Hearing quiet heart wrenching sobs, I carefully turned to see it wasn't my Mom, she had composure. Mom whispering softly to Dad, "she looks wonderful, beautiful, she is at peace. Yikes, Big Memere had a heart, large, open and beautiful, her inner peace, gorgeous. To say she looked beautiful, it was then I realized, death made Mom blind, if only for a few days, my Dad as well, he agreed with her! At least at age seven, that's the way I had perceived the moment.
Those heart wrenching sobs heard above the soft murmurs and prayer within the room, coming from Aunt Anna. Actually my great aunt, she was one of Big Memere's surviving children, her outward appearance left no doubt she belonged to Big Memere! My sister and I always thought of her as somewhat mean, the total opposite of her mother. Years later we dubbed her the "casket thrower," as she always made a scene, sobbing uncontrollably, "throwing" herself atop the casket or so it seemed. Most seemed to ignore her, although I do remember a stern look from my grandmother and a few short words in French, not meant for our ears!
Trying to remember that event more than half a century later, few things stand out. Fact of the matter is, she looked as though she were sleeping and certainly not any "prettier!" Aunt Anna, not by choice a middle child, tried to steal the show and my first "brush with death" certainly did not scar me for life nor did I have nightmare following this event!
Big Memere, as she was affectionately called by my sister and I, was our Great Grandmother. Although she spoke only French, she understood everything we said. Whenever she saw us, a big hug and kiss and with the thickest of French-Canadian accents, it was always, " oh babies!". Mom and our Memere, Big Memere's oldest daughter, would then carry on in French. Although they assumed we didn't understand, these visits were frequent and through sheer repetition, we could almost always get the gist of the conversations.
Although my Mother's immediate family was just her mother, her extend family was huge. Big Memere and Pepere had sixteen children. With multiple sets of twins, survival of both babies born in the first two decades of the twentieth century, we're slim. By the time my sister and I entered this world, Big Mem and Pep had only had eight surviving children, four boys, four girls.
Our Memere had been married, we never knew her husband and no one ever spoke of him, unless we missed that part of the French conversation. Hmmm, could of been a good thing, all we knew was that he was mean and had left our Memere and Mom. Mom's brother Roland died at age ten, during the outbreak of polio in the 1930's. Mom and Memere missed him dearly, their words were always so kind when his name was mentioned.
Now, my mother's sadness was the result of her grandmother's death. After much deliberation it was decided, although young, I would be allowed to attend big Memere's wake. Thinking back, I can still visualize my great grandmother. Hands folded, rosary beads intertwined amongst the arthritic looking dead fingers, every wrinkle on her older than dirt face covered with makeup, this did not look like the Big Memere, who welcomed me with open arms, let me sit on her lap, as she sat rocking in her chair next to the old green kerosene stove. Not the best looking woman I had ever seen, but her smile always radiated warmth and welcome.
Big Memere, the matriarch of this clan, had helped raise my mother. Some of her younger children were within a couple years of my Mother's age, making them more like siblings than her aunts and uncles. Mom was devastated by Big Memere's passing.
As we made our way to view the body, a small kneeler had been place alongside the coffin. Mom and Dad knelt down, instructing my sister and I to stand on either side of them. Looking back the quietness of the moment disturbed me. Hearing quiet heart wrenching sobs, I carefully turned to see it wasn't my Mom, she had composure. Mom whispering softly to Dad, "she looks wonderful, beautiful, she is at peace. Yikes, Big Memere had a heart, large, open and beautiful, her inner peace, gorgeous. To say she looked beautiful, it was then I realized, death made Mom blind, if only for a few days, my Dad as well, he agreed with her! At least at age seven, that's the way I had perceived the moment.
Those heart wrenching sobs heard above the soft murmurs and prayer within the room, coming from Aunt Anna. Actually my great aunt, she was one of Big Memere's surviving children, her outward appearance left no doubt she belonged to Big Memere! My sister and I always thought of her as somewhat mean, the total opposite of her mother. Years later we dubbed her the "casket thrower," as she always made a scene, sobbing uncontrollably, "throwing" herself atop the casket or so it seemed. Most seemed to ignore her, although I do remember a stern look from my grandmother and a few short words in French, not meant for our ears!
Trying to remember that event more than half a century later, few things stand out. Fact of the matter is, she looked as though she were sleeping and certainly not any "prettier!" Aunt Anna, not by choice a middle child, tried to steal the show and my first "brush with death" certainly did not scar me for life nor did I have nightmare following this event!
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