GRIEF, PACHANGAS, and ST. PETER
Okay, so I am not the most tactful person on earth. My friend died. My first reaction was to laugh – a story I told her shocked granddaughter. I had to explain. Very awkwardly, to be sure.
One of our dear friends, Jini, was a unique character. The first time I met her, she was driving her go-cart through the old people’s park to welcome us to the community. Not just any go-cart. This one was decorated with flags, bunting, and flowers. Her floppy sun hat was equally flamboyant. Her smile, twinkling eyes, and infectious laughter were always refreshing.
A native Bostonian, she never met a person she couldn’t talk to in that crazy, thick accent that always made me smile. She always made a person feel as if he belonged, and as if he were the most important person in the room.
She had a colorful history, knew every funny song from the old days, loved to sing, tap dance, and have a pachanga. She played the spoons, the organ, the harmonica, and the psaltery. She always wanted to play the ‘hahp’. Nothing pleased her more than a hymn sing.
When I first met Jini, she was recovering from a fall down a set of stairs. She never really recovered from that injury, and physically, things went downhill from there. In spite of her pain, she was always ready to have a good time, a laugh, or a tease.
The last party we had with Jini, she couldn’t walk without a walker and couldn’t move without pain. But the woman still knew how to party! Her husband, Wendell, brought out her tap shoes and tied them on. My husband played the guitar, and Ronald and Jini sang. Jini tapped danced from her chair. Within a verse and chorus, her pain overtook her desire, and she had to stop. From her chair of pain, she watched the party around her, regretting her inability to play an instrument, sad that she didn’t have breath to sing. A few months later, she broke her hip – the final lap of her pain.
When Wendell called and told Ronald of her death, I laughed. I could envision her tapping her way through the golden gates, throwing up her hands, and calling out, “Hey, St. Petah, I’m here to pahty! Where’s the pachanga? Where’s my hahp?” I could imagine an angel doing a head palm saying, “Oh my goodness, what are we in for?” But I am very sure that she brought heaven as much joy as she shared on earth.
Which brings me to my verbal faux pas. I meant to tell Kimber, her sweet granddaughter, that her grandmother was a delight. I wanted to say I was sure that Jini was in heaven. I wanted to assure Kimber that Jini was pain free for the first time in years.
I’m sorry for my mindless condolence, but like the Little Prince who tricked the aviator into laughing when he saw the stars, Jini tricked me. When I think of Jini, I celebrate her life with laughter at the joy she shared.
What will people think about me when I pass on? May I make good memories today for others to remember me by tomorrow.
Blessings
KB
