Mourning someone once is a process in itself but mourning them twice is a different kind of heartbreak. The only thing bearable is if they're not aware of it. Let it be tougher on the rest of us, that is fine... because knowing they're comfortable does give us peace. I was talking to a childhood friend of mine and I said when my mother-in-law got to the point that she didn't know who any of us were anymore, still every now and then when there was a smile or a glimmer of engagement with us-- maybe she even knew someone's name-- I swear we could almost get lost in the moment. As if she only had temporary amnesia instead... that somehow she would magically get better.
So now I am writing to you because that's how I cope. Your health took a bad turn about a week ago after you fell. As Dana said as much as this hurts and we are devastated, you will be better off in heaven than living a life you can not remember.
But here's what I remember. The first time Dan introduced me, you and Dad were cleaning out the Perry Street house. Infamous Perry Street I would soon learn, with the Capelas being one of five families who raised their kids together... different siblings among them are still friends to this day. Anyway it was evening and you were both elbow-deep in everything you were doing, but perfectly kind. Even though there wasn't much conversational exchange that night... we didn't have a meal together or anything... Dan and I were just stopping by. But eventually there were plenty of dinners, a Yankees game, and various specific family events I remember from very early on.
We probably all remember my first Easter dinner-- but in my defense it's not that stuffed shells were new to me, it's just not my favorite cheese. That didn't stop Dad from asking me what the heck I was doing-- gutting those poor pasta shells. But while I was also of course the only one at the table not eating your cherished meatballs, for some reason Dan didn't say to heck with me. At least my future son would become arguably your favorite customer of all time. And you know stuffed shells and meatballs aside, years later Dan said since I'm short with brown hair, my name ends in an "a" and my middle initial is "M"... I blend anyway. I also remember my first Christmas with the Capelas. I was so excited to get a stocking-- I think it was filled with toiletries, candy, socks... those sorts of things. Whatever it was, I loved it. We bought you a sweater from the mall and the style was a little bit too fitted for your liking, but I learned to shop much better for your preferences. Over the years we would buy one another lots of purple things and for you, I new anything decorative with cows was always safe.
I remember your excitement for all of the milestones... engagement, wedding, baby, birthdays, etc. You were also both at our home together with my parents when Dan & I went to that first pediatric neurologist follow-up, after Hayden's surprise diagnosis. Every step of the way our memories are inclusive of you and Grandpa. You were both always present for school events, like music concerts or Halloween parades. I hear your voice all the time talking to Hayden, "My guy," you would say. Your grandkids were your world. Logan, Kaitlyn, and Hayden pictures everywhere-- and so much thought with the PA house to accommodate having the kids there. And then Abby came along and re-ignited that twinkle in your eye even more. (Thirteen years between the youngest and the oldest, yet somehow their birthdays are barely a month apart.)
For most of Hayden's school-age years we would spend time together weekly. When Hayden was very little you would be at our home for him one day a week when he got off the bus, and we would usually get pizza for dinner from the same place every week. You always had the NJ12 local news on the television in the background. Maybe, possibly, complaining about the dog. Dad would say with a smile, "Angelina, relax! Relax like a big ball of wax!" He gave Sammie a treat every time you walked in the door and would sort of box you in with the ottomans after you got situated on the couch, to keep her away. Eventually Dana and Rob moved about fifteen minutes away and you would make the rounds to see all your grands! Once a week-- usually stop by our house and then go there.
When Hayden was around middle-school age, it was sometime during those years that you became a bit more withdrawn and your visits were more routine than anything else. If you spoke you would re-tell the same childhood memories, typically stories about your cousins and about living in Newark. But eventually you weren't really engaging with us much at all.
But what I can promise you, is that we will forever hold all the memories that you no longer could.
When you had to be moved to memory care a few years ago and Dad was moving south with you, it was overwhelming from various perspectives. The least of which was going through each room and all the decades of memories they held-- many of which were first moved from Rockaway, and then Hackettstown. Piles of odds and ends were set aside for donation, or even the dumpster. But I wouldn't ignore all that and I would take a moment to go through them, each time we were at the house. Here and there just a small number of things would come home with us. I noticed how Dan started to recognize and appreciate reminders of you that I put to use or found a nice spot for. And then I remember Grandpa holding that woven blanket decorated with the 12 months-- a holiday or a seasonal design to represent each one. It was always draped on the sofa and folded to display the one end that says the family name just above the bottom fringe, near October, November, and December. Anyway, I remember that moment because he looked at me as he held it up to hand it to me, and he said, "you're The Capelas". Now the blanket is often draped on a sofa in our home, too.
I hope where you are, in addition to regaining time with loved ones who went before you, that you are doing all the things that made you who you were. Whether it be finding all those sales-- from a department store to a yard sale. (I love how you sometimes picked up something purple for me... I still have one of those little purple glass bowls, I use it all the time.) Or maybe where you are, you can clip all the good coupons from a Sunday paper... make delicious food just like your mom did (so I am told)... definitely tell silly but witty jokes-- (I mean the way you and Dan would go back and forth to the point that we couldn't catch our breath, my parents still talk about that--)... and of course loving and watching over your family and grandkids.
We are not just continuing on without you, because in truth we are all blessed to continue on because of you. I may share the name but you will forever be the Mrs. Capela. I know I hardly speak for myself when I say I will hear your voice and picture your smile often. Thank you for my beautiful family. And by the way sugar doesn't count anymore so please enjoy all the sweets your heart desires!
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