Cousin Cindy

I got the dreaded call last night--the one from a family member whose job is to deliver the death announcement. It was so unexpected in my world that it didn't hit me until midnight, and so this morning, I'm grieving. My emotions are all over the place, and there is so much regret due to typical circumstances.

My cousin was young, (right side of pic) I don't mean age, at 63 she had experienced life, but she was like a sprout popping from the earth, leaning its head back to feel the warmth of the sun, tongue open to catch the rain, ready to see what the world had to offer. She was a sunbeam who hugged you to her light and left you feeling happy and content. She was special.

• During my awkward teen years, my first memory of her when relatives would comment on seeing me, "You're going to be tall just like Cindy and Sheila." I thought those sisters were the most beautiful, worldly gals and secretly hoped I would be just as beautiful.
• I was the second generation of cousins, and she was the first, so she grew up with my sisters, but after I reached the echelon of "adulthood," we started a relationship that included being a part of the group of reunion attendees who lingered in a circle telling stories and laughing, laughing, laughing.

• She was, without a doubt, the happiest and most contented person I knew.
• She was non-judgmental.
• She made cinnamon rolls (and everything else) from scratch. When she brought them to our reunions, they never made it from her car to the table because we intercepted her.
• She thought my mom was the greatest, and she always brought out the great in my mom.
• She was so very talented. She once had a business making buttons and jewelry. The buttons would go on hand-sewn dresses. She sent one to Madison when she turned one. Both of my daughters wore the dress in their one year picture. It is in my treasure box of keepsakes.
• I also still have the note she sent me after Madison's birth.
• She was married to her husband for over forty years. I always thought we should all have their marriage.
• She raised her own daughter with laughter and gave her the chance to run wild and free, spreading her wings to fly. I always hoped I would do that with my own. 
• I loved how she said my name, sort of a drawing out of each syllable like she was thinking of how to tell me what was next in her head.
• Once she showed me her Lego collection that she had for her grandson. She had spent countless hours scouring yard sales and second-hand shops everywhere she traveled to find these Legos for him. They were in bins in every room of her house.
• She was the kind of mother and grandmother who got down on the floor to play with the kids.
• She never locked her door, and everyone that knew her knew it was because we were always welcome. Even when she wasn't home.
• She didn't do social media. She told me she would rather I visit her and tell her face to face my blog stories.
• She had a great laugh.
• She checked up on me often after my mother died, calling me to see how I was. She also offered to fly here to clean out The Condo, telling me she was efficient and organized.
• She grew her food. She made her food. She was the first of the bunch to cleanse her body of additives and preservatives, and she did that until she died.
• She always had a Mason jar of iced tea with her.
• When her hair started turning gray, she just let it.
• She generally wanted to hear about your life and not just a generic answer, but the details.
• She was very talented. I don't think there wasn't anything she could do. If she didn't know how to do something, she would look it up and figure it out.
• A few years ago, she drove from an Orlando vacation to visit me for a short hour or so. It wasn't long enough. 
• She gave great hugs. Strong. Tight. Loving.
• She reached out to my SIL after her diagnosis, and they spoke several times a week. She then would call me to see how I was handling it, and she would offer her help. She sent my SIL so many wonderful motivators and items that she cherishes. More so now.
• She recently sent me some cool stuff that once belonged to her father and mine.
• She gave great advice, and if you didn't think it was good advice, she wanted to hear why. She always listened to an alternative suggestion, and then if you swayed her, she made sure to let you know that.
• She once took Madison to the movies and brought homemade popcorn in bags for everyone. Madison still has that memory.
• She was cool. Everyone thought so. 
• She started texting and texted me often before the holidays to keep me updated on her grandkids, sending me pictures. She told me she loved me often. Four days ago, I realized I hadn't heard from her in a while. I immediately thought I should text. I didn't do it.
• The night she died, I was making plans to go to Indiana for a visit. On my list of things to do was text her and see if she was up to housing the kids and me.

She didn't want anyone to know she was sick. She didn't want a funeral. While her death is such a shock, I understand that this was Cindy. I find it interesting that I made the resolution to stay in touch with family this year. Her death will certainly push me to make that resolution a success. I only wish I had done it with her. When I'm ready, I'm going to do something fun to honor her instead. She would appreciate that.