Marie at 1 Write Way

Still Here

In the past few weeks I’ve been mostly off the grid; only recently have I started taking baby steps to rejoin my favorite online communities. After my last post, I began to mentally prepare for a trip to see family in central New York State. It had been almost a year since my sister Shirley died. While I was looking forward to seeing her family, I also knew it would be painful. So I gave myself two weeks to plan and pack.

Adding to my anxiety was an invitation to speak at a Celebration of Life for my cousin Elaine who had died a month before my sister. Her daughter Lia, her only child and her primary caregiver when she became ill, asked me to speak. I couldn’t say no. A few months before Elaine died, Lia gave me the opportunity to share memories with her through email. Elaine and I have an interesting history. She is why I moved to California. For a few years, she was my employer, and it was at her candle factory that I had an accident that upended my life. (You can read about the accident here.) It’s a memory that haunts me, but it wasn’t what I wanted to share with Elaine.

For the event, I revised what I did share with Lia and Elaine. I printed it out, in large type, fully prepared to read it calmly. When we got to New York, I was distracted by family issues and didn’t think about the event until the morning of. And then I thought I would simply fall apart.

They held the celebration in the visitor’s center of the Auriesville Shrine, the gift store on one side of the low round building, a cluster of tables and chairs on the other, facing a bank of windows that looked out onto the Mohawk River.

It was a true celebration of Elaine’s life with her sisters, her daughter, and our cousins taking turns sharing memories, often through tears. There was singing and music and a slide show highlighting moments of Elaine’s life.

When it was my turn to speak, I tried to be relaxed, greeting the crowd with “Hey, everybody.” But with the first two words of my speech, I started crying. I thought I wouldn’t be able to read it at all. But I got through it. It was important for me to do this for Elaine and for Lia. Here’s what I had to say:

Elaine and I have so much history together and yet so little compared to others. I don’t remember Elaine from before I was 15 and she came to NY from California for a visit.

My memory is not good, and others’ are likely better than mine, but this is how I remember it:

We were all at my sister Shirley’s farm, having some big family get-together.

At some point in the evening, Elaine sat outside with us “kids” in a circle and told us stories about her life in California.

I remember feeling in awe of her, this warm, smiling woman who had managed to escape small-town life and survive.

She was living in California, a place as exotic in my imagination as France or Spain would be in real life.

She must have had the candle factory starting up because I said something to her about working there. She invited anyone and everyone to come work there.

After a few years, I took her up on it and our history began.

While those years in the beginning were rough for both me and Elaine—she was trying to keep her business afloat, I was trying to keep myself afloat—because of it all … because of Elaine, I eventually met the love of my life, my best friend for life, the man I’ve been with now for almost 40 years.

What a gift Elaine gave me when she said, “Sure, come on out to California.” She helped set my life in motion. She set me on the path I needed to go on.

And what a gift she gave the world in the form of her beautiful, brilliant daughter Lia. 

That’s what I’ll always remember about Elaine, the gifts she gave.

Elaine and me in 2007.

When I came back to my home in Florida, I found out that a piece I submitted to Visual Verse had been accepted and published. You can read it here: Still Life. Of course, it’s about cats. Here are my muses:

Wendy
Raji
Junior with his catnip-stuffed sock. Taken on July 6, 2023.

Marie A Bailey

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28 responses to “Still Here”

  1. I loved your story in Visual Verse. Congratulations, Marie. I’m glad you made it through the celebration of Elane’s life. Speaking at those is never easy. Thanks for sharing your experience.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. You have had such a year, Marie! I think it’s good you took time off, and also wonderful that you were able to see your family.
    I just read the post about your accident. I must not have been following you then, but I can understand how such a traumatic event has affected you. Sending hugs and congratulations again on your VV piece!

    Liked by 1 person

    • Thank you, Merril! You’re so sweet to read that long-ago post. The accident still affects me. I was left with some disability and a lot of scarring on my leg. I still find myself making adjustments in my clothing and activities because of it. And yet … it was a pathway to meeting my husband :-)

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  3. It was good to see a new post from you come across my email today. I’m glad you made it through your tribute to Elaine at her Celebration of LIfe. (I just read about your accident; it sounds horrendous.)

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  5. Happy to hear you made the trip and it seems healing for all of you…thanks for sharing such a touching speech—congrats on published piece! Enjoyed your pics!

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    • Thank you, Natalie! I hope you are doing well. I also haven’t been on Medium lately. I canceled my subscription and now I’m limited to two articles a month :-(

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  6. Like Merril, I, too read your post about your accident. My goodness! No wonder it still haunts you!
    Congratulations, your text was a fun read.
    What you wrote for Elaine is beautiful and I’ve no doubt it was well-received.
    Sending hugs!

    Liked by 1 person

  7. OMG – I had a hard time fully reading about your accident – very painful & difficult for you physically and otherwise.
    And yet, there it is: family. No matter what. Family. As my Ma would say, ‘Ya done good’ on all your tasks done lately. Sigh.

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  8. Marie, you are so brave. Having to talk at your cousin’s celebration of life ceremony after losing your own sister is a testament to your strength in the midst of grief. But also, just as important, is your ability to show compassion towards Elaine – as you did so in your talk. After reading your linked post about your accident, I find it so inconceivable and cruel how you could have been blamed for the accident. <3

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    • Thank you, Carol. I so appreciate your kind words. The accident did create a bit of tension (understatement) between me and my cousin, but we got passed it. I’m grateful to her daughter for giving me the chance to help Elaine–and myself–understand the good she brought to my life.

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  10. I’m still here, too. I’m finding it hard to comment lately but I wanted to send you a virtual hugs. We share some history, sort of. I wrote out my story, too, some years ago and it was cathartic. I thought it was going to be so interesting that I would write a whole book about it. However, when I got to the part where I didn’t die, I guess that was pretty much all I needed. I never found the motivation to continue the story, the rest of the story was, after all, just life.

    I am very glad to know you!

    Liked by 1 person

    • I’m very glad to know you too! It was cathartic for me to write about my accident, and I’ve written about it many times. A couple of years ago, when I heard that my cousin had cancer and only months to live, my feelings about the accident started to shift. I didn’t want the accident to always be between us. I am grateful that her daughter gave me a chance to focus on the good that Elaine brought to my life.

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  11. I am visiting from Ally’s blog. Having lost two sisters, I could feel what you were writing. I look forward to meandering through more of your writing. It’s so nice to ‘meet’ you. ❤️

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