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I got a phone call yesterday from my mum.
There's this tone in her voice that I can identify instantly now. It's the "Someone's Died" tone. Unfortunately, I've had a lot of practice at identifing it.
Growing up, my family attended weekly mass at Saint Mary's. Hit all my milestones there, right up to being confirmed. Every Sunday, 8 am mass until I left for college. When I go home, I still get up and go with Mom. It is less for me a time of worship, and more a zen time of routine. The familiar words, the familiar faces, it's just comforting, though I disagree with many of the tenants.
Part of the routine is sitting in the same place. Every week, within a pew or three, my family could be found in the same place. So on with the people around us. I've watched families grow from squalling infants to tall self-aware teenages in this odd time-lapse of my mind. I've watched tall men loose their hair and start to stoop.
There was a little lady who, upon moving to the area, always sat in front of us, within 2 pews or so. No family accompanied her. She was a tiny little birdlike woman, and for years, we didn't really know her, other than she was The Hat Lady.
She was proper in a way that recalled years past. She was gracious and kind, and eventually due to my social butterfly grandmother, we got to know her on friendly terms. She was greatly involved in the senior center, and all the elder-care activities of the town. She had this sweet, sterotypical little old lady voice.
When she wasn't sitting in front of us, she could be found up in the very first pew with her gentleman friend, Carl. They were wonderfully... good. Doting on each other wouldn't be an exaggeration. Carl passed away about a year ago, and I remember being quite sad for my little Hat Lady.
Part of her properness was that she always wore hats to church. Interesting little things, with netting, sometimes flowers, occasionally birds, but always tiny little hats reminiscent of the 40-50's (at least to me.) Us kids would sit there, facinated that this woman, perfectly quaffed, had these odd little hats which just looked... right.
The phone call yesterday was Mom, calling to tell me that Elvina had passed away Saturday. The announcement was small, the rituals of death done quietly and without fuss, much like the woman herself.
Our little Hat Lady is gone. I wonder if she knew how much she touched those around her by her simple being.
I hope she does.
- K.
There's this tone in her voice that I can identify instantly now. It's the "Someone's Died" tone. Unfortunately, I've had a lot of practice at identifing it.
Growing up, my family attended weekly mass at Saint Mary's. Hit all my milestones there, right up to being confirmed. Every Sunday, 8 am mass until I left for college. When I go home, I still get up and go with Mom. It is less for me a time of worship, and more a zen time of routine. The familiar words, the familiar faces, it's just comforting, though I disagree with many of the tenants.
Part of the routine is sitting in the same place. Every week, within a pew or three, my family could be found in the same place. So on with the people around us. I've watched families grow from squalling infants to tall self-aware teenages in this odd time-lapse of my mind. I've watched tall men loose their hair and start to stoop.
There was a little lady who, upon moving to the area, always sat in front of us, within 2 pews or so. No family accompanied her. She was a tiny little birdlike woman, and for years, we didn't really know her, other than she was The Hat Lady.
She was proper in a way that recalled years past. She was gracious and kind, and eventually due to my social butterfly grandmother, we got to know her on friendly terms. She was greatly involved in the senior center, and all the elder-care activities of the town. She had this sweet, sterotypical little old lady voice.
When she wasn't sitting in front of us, she could be found up in the very first pew with her gentleman friend, Carl. They were wonderfully... good. Doting on each other wouldn't be an exaggeration. Carl passed away about a year ago, and I remember being quite sad for my little Hat Lady.
Part of her properness was that she always wore hats to church. Interesting little things, with netting, sometimes flowers, occasionally birds, but always tiny little hats reminiscent of the 40-50's (at least to me.) Us kids would sit there, facinated that this woman, perfectly quaffed, had these odd little hats which just looked... right.
The phone call yesterday was Mom, calling to tell me that Elvina had passed away Saturday. The announcement was small, the rituals of death done quietly and without fuss, much like the woman herself.
Our little Hat Lady is gone. I wonder if she knew how much she touched those around her by her simple being.
I hope she does.
- K.
