Where are you now, Memere and Pepere? Did you go to the No Tear Place?

 

It was my godparents' funeral this weekend. I polished my shoes before going. Why? Because my godparents' porch had two distinct smells: varnish and shoe polish.

My godfather made furniture as a hobby and the smell of varnish filled the porch as his latest creation dried. Born in 1930, he was also a man of his times and wore dress shoes, even when he just came over to visit, and his shoes were nicely polished. Out of respect for his values, I polished my shoes before the funeral and the smell carried me back to when I was 8 and my godparents lived across the street from me. I called my godparents Pepere and Memere; the French words for grandpa and grandma.  

The smell associated with my godmother is baked beans. Memere was an outstanding cook and baked beans were her specialty. 

My godmother was a woman of her times, too. She was a homemaker, which is another way of saying that it was her job to make her house comfortable for friends and family alike. Apart from her cooking and care, one of the ways she made her house a home was with her laughter. She was always laughing about something. I liked seeing her smile. 

The last words she said to me were, "I love you." This was at the end of a phone conversation when she was in the hospital. I replied, "I love you, too." And then we hung up. I didn't know it would be the last time we'd talk. I like that she was so enthused to tell me how she felt.   

On the weekend, I said good-bye to both of them. They were together for 67 years so it's fitting that their ashes were placed in the same urn.

After the funeral, the procession of family and close friends went to the cemetary to place the urn to rest. My grandpa had purchased the slot in the columbarium about 10 years ago. He jokingly called it his concrete condo. Pepere said exactly what he thought and he didn't give a shit what anyone had to say about it. 

We cried and hugged and said good-bye. And we decided to come visit them in the spring when the cemetary is green and alive and beautiful. 

When it was his turn, my dad said his good-byes, too. Memere and Pepere were a big part of our family. There was a bad storm when I was born and the temperature dropped below -40. The fuel pump on our car froze and Dad had to change it in the hospital parking lot. To this day, he still talks about how his bare fingers burned on the frozen metal. When it was time to leave, Pepere drove an hour to the hospital and followed Dad and his young family all the way back home. The men decided to use two cars in case the storm got worse or in case there were more mechanical problems. Pepere had old school values. No storm was going to stop him from being a good neighbour and helping my dad. 

In French, there's a verb to describe the action of being a good neighbour. It's "voisiner." If a person doesn't mind creativity and accepts invented words, it could be translated as neighbouring, but in this case it wouldn't mean beside or next to as in, "The store is neighbouring the parking lot." Instead, it would mean talking to kindly and visiting with. We could say, "I was over at Tom's house and we were neighbouring. He was telling me a funny story about his latest fishing trip." Neighbouring is the action of being a good neighbour. 

After the burial, everyone met at their son's place. I got to meet my godmother's sister Ivone. She resembles my godmother and has a similar laugh. The sound of her laughter is a close second so hearing it made me briefly feel as if I were talking with Memere again and that she was still alive. Ivone is from the old school, too. She treats men with respect and has probably never even heard the term toxic masculinity. She'd quickly dismiss it as one-sided. I like the way she treats me. 

This picture show my godparents as I want to remember them - smiling and alive. 

It seems like I know you better since the funeral and I wish we had more time together. I appreciate you more now that you are gone. That strikes me as unfair and beautiful at the same time.