Elaine

A few weeks ago I was introduced to someone I've been introduced to several times before. We laughed and he made the comment that I'm always smiling. Like ALWAYS. I smiled, tried not to, and then gave up and said, "Yep, that's me."

It's not the first time someone has commented on my smile. On the fact that I smile a lot. I remember in grad school a professor I worked with said my smile brightened up the office. It wasn't creepy. I believe he genuinely meant it. And it was something he commented, on September 12, 2001, that made the day brighter. I took pride in that. I still do.

I smile because the world needs to be brighter. Everyone can benefit from a little extra happiness, right? And it's just who I am. Am I always cheerful and happy go lucky? God no. But I can plaster on a smile with the best of them. And most of the time it's genuine. Most of the time I'm happy.

Doris, me & Elaine

But in October there was a day where no smile crossed my lips. No smile brightened my eyes. It was the day my mom called early to tell us that our dear Elaine was in the hospital. And that she wasn't doing well. That day there were only tears. Tears for hours.

Elaine is the cousin of my mom's father. They were closer than he and his siblings were. We grew up spending every Christmas, every Easter, so many summer days, so many other days, with Elaine. With Elaine and her husband Arnold and their daughter Doris. Our family. Our family who lived in exotic Canada! It was a big deal when we got to cross the border and drive north and stay with Elaine, or later with Doris. It was an even bigger deal when they would come for family events, for visits, to spend time with us. It felt like we were whole, we were us.

Angela & Elaine

And it's from Elaine that I learned to smile. I honestly cannot tell you that I ever saw her unhappy. Now, I'm sure Doris can attest to the fact that much like myself, Elaine wasn't always so jovial. However, her demeanor, most of the time, was that of joy. That of hope. That of love and brightness.

Elaine wasn't my grandmother but she was. She was one of my grandmother's best friends, and they traveled the globe together after my grandfather died and then Elaine's husband Arnold died. They were our very own Thelma and Louise. They traveled, went to plays, sat up late chatting, spent long mornings with coffee at my grandmother's kitchen table. They saw each other through life's ups and downs, through heartache and death, through joy and love.

The day I didn't smile was hard for so many reasons. Angela and I are so far away from the family on the east coast. We make treks home every six months but Elaine had been ill this summer and we'd missed seeing her. But there had been phone calls since then, cards and photographs exchanged. Smiles shared in so many ways. But we still weren't ready. We were planning on celebrating her 90th birthday in 2018. We were planning a special Christmas Dice Game that would celebrate what Elaine was a part of beginning 50 years ago. But she had other plans. She was ready to go be with Arnold and Grandma and Grandpa and so many others.

As I sat in the pew at her funeral, I couldn't help but smile through my sobs. Friend after friend got up and told us stories of Elaine. Stories from when she worked in radio before she was married. Stories from when she met Arnold. Stories from when Doris was a girl, and then beyond. Stories that revolved around her passions, her family, her spirit. Stories that were all sprinkled with a little bit of Crown Royal and a whole lot of love.

Elaine taught me to smile. Elaine taught me to go after what I want most in this life. She never stopped asking about my stories, my plays, my shows. She never stopped wanting to learn, to discover, to hear "what's new". She ruled the roost at the care home for the last decade much as she ruled the roost everywhere she ever went. She was our family's glue, especially in the past few years after my grandmother passed away. Wherever she was, we gathered. We ate cookies together, we chatted together, we loved together.

Elaine & her mother,
Aunt Ethel

If you know me, you know family is important to me. (That may be an understatement.) You also know family is hard, being in community is hard. Our family has had it's ups and downs. (We were once disowned (and still are) by family who lived two blocks away -- and as children this can be very hard to understand. It can be even harder to understand as adults.) But Elaine kept us together. She and her family (another branch of the family down the block) made the trek across the border and hundreds of miles to keep us together. She brought her smile to us. To me.

Elaine, Angela, Dad & me

I will miss her hugs. I will miss her laugh. I will miss her cozy little room with the photos of our family all throughout it. I will miss seeing our family quilts laid out. Our life remembered by her. But most of all I will miss her smile. Because for me, that's what I will always remember. How her smile meant love. It meant she loved me. It meant she was happy. And so was I.

Elaine -- I miss you terribly. Selfishly. Loudly. But I know that it was time for you to take that smile home and share it with the rest of our family. This Christmas we'll raise a glass to you and we'll smile. Just like you did for us.