Her name was Lucy
which, not-so-ironically, means light.
And OH, but she was.
Fiery and feisty,
she taught me what it meant to be made of
perhaps
a dash more spice
than sugar …
though her sweet tooth was never fully satisfied.
She loved life
and laughter –
so
much
laughter.
She loved fancy
and flirting
and the color red.
When I was a little girl,
she taught me songs the world forgot,
but I remember still …
songs about “Elmer’s tune,” and “The Man in the Moon,”
songs my children now know the words to.
I loved the way she called me “Dolly,”
the way she didn’t over-apologize the way I do,
the way she shamelessly said
what-so-ever crossed her mind,
whether it was mindful or not.
Living nearly a century, with immeasurable loss,
she had every right to be hardened – to be jaded, or sad.
But she wasn’t.
She lived in a world of her own making,
dressing up her goodbyes as “too-da-loo’s”
somehow making every parting more sweet than sorrow-filled.
She chose joy,
and taught me that even now, even without her –
because of her …
I can too.
