The doctor started her day by making mine: the biopsy results were in, and they were negative.
I was getting ready quickly because there was a funeral at 10:00 and I was picking up a friend who lived in the opposite direction, and one is not late for those.
Agnes was 87 and had passed quietly in her sleep.
When we moved here, we were young parents far away from family. Agnes was this tiny woman from Puerto Rico who loved to laugh, who with her sweet accent called me Daughter, so I called her Mom. We would laugh some more when I would say Mom and we would see someone who didn’t know us do a startled double take and try not to stare while trying to figure it out. Good times.
Her son and daughter-in-law had toddlers in the nursery at church just like we did, and I remember their Nathan was always looking out for his little sister. Protecting her. Helping her. Being her big brother was something he took great pride in. They were so adorable together.
The whole family moved to the next city over a few years later.
Nathan, at twelve, was made an honorary fireman by the firefighters there while he was fighting cancer.
And here I was today, in that same building where his funeral had been attended by enough firefighters that their red trucks parked lengthwise had filled the back of the parking lot.
His mother was so inspired by the loving care her son had gotten that she went back to school and became a nurse at that hospital so she could be that and do that for the next families walking in those shoes.
After the remembrances, the laughter, the heartfelt musical solo that left my face mask damp, I talked to my old friends about their mom.
And found myself asking one 30-something a question he probably had not been asked in a very very long time.
Are you Nathan’s brother?
He was.
I told him how Nathan had always looked out for his sister, and his face just–someone remembered! Nicole, he answered, eyes moist. Yes. Yes he did.
When we love someone they are part of us forever. His grandmother will be remembered. His older brother is remembered, and now he knew that. The good that we do does in fact live on.