Terri posted a condolence
Sunday, April 11, 2021
I'm writing on behalf of my Dad, Bill Donna's big brother. I know dad would be upset to hear of Donna's passing, as am I. On dad's last visit to Cranbrook we stayed with her for Thanksgiving. Donna's hospitality, and generous nature made the visit memorable and a perfect last trip for dad before his dementia took over. She drove us around Kimberly so we could visit to all the places dad and her spent growing up. Donna made that trip one of the best visits we've ever had, and it's hard to believe we won't see her again.
I also remember countless visits when Donna and Bill were living in Richmond when I was younger. They're still some of my best memories, and really spoke to her generous nature.
Bill and Christopher I am so sorry for your loss, and I know nothing I can say will make it any easier. Someone left this saying to me when I lost my mom, and it brought me some comfort, I hope it bring some to the both of you too.
"As for grief, you’ll find it comes in waves. When the ship is first wrecked, you’re drowning, with wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty and the magnificence of the ship that was, and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of the wreckage and you hang on for a while. Maybe it’s some physical thing. Maybe it’s a happy memory or a photograph. Maybe it’s a person who is also floating. For a while, all you can do is float. Stay alive.
In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and don’t even give you time to catch your breath. All you can do is hang on and float. After a while, maybe weeks, maybe months, you’ll find the waves are still 100 feet tall, but they come further apart. When they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out. But in between, you can breathe, you can function. You never know what’s going to trigger the grief. It might be a song, a picture, a street intersection, the smell of a cup of coffee. It can be just about anything…and the wave comes crashing. But in between waves, there is life.
Somewhere down the line, and it’s different for everybody, you find that the waves are only 80 feet tall. Or 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they come further apart. You can see them coming. An anniversary, a birthday, or Christmas, or landing at O’Hare. You can see it coming, for the most part, and prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, you know that somehow you will, again, come out the other side. Soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of the wreckage, but you’ll come out.
Take it from an old guy. The waves never stop coming, and somehow you don’t really want them to. But you learn that you’ll survive them. And other waves will come. And you’ll survive them too. If you’re lucky, you’ll have lots of scars from lots of loves. And lots of shipwrecks."
Bill Lynes & Terri Hardcastle
