My cousin, Jane, passed away last night. She was 95. Her maternal grandparents and my great, great grandparents were the same people. I guess that made me her first cousin, twice removed.
Cousin Jane was a magical person. Trevor once described her as having an aura around her. She was generous and warm, honest and true. She cared deeply about people.
I cared deeply about her.
The last time I saw her:
On New Year’s Eve, Cousin Jane came to Dallas to visit her daughter, and called to let us know that she planned to call on us for tea the following afternoon. A flurry of activity ensued as Trevor and I tried to prepare for our guest. We broke out the wedding china for the first time, and arranged it around our dining room table. Trevor picked up tea cakes, tarts and cookies from Tart (thanks to Avia who knew the baker and called in a last-minute favor less than an hour before they were scheduled to close for the holiday), and I scrubbed our house from corner to corner. I brushed the dogs and wiped them down (even going so far as to spritz them with perfume). While on the phone with Jane, I had made the mental decision to drop Gypsy, Alley and Haskell off at my dad’s house before our scheduled tea time, and pick them afterwards. Until, that is, Jane asked if the “reverent Labradors" from my wedding would at home. She was planning to call on the entire family – two and four legged members alike.
That evening, just as we were about to head to Irving to ring in 2010 with friends, our washer backed up and nearly flooded our house. $250 and one emergency plumber later, the problem was fixed. My sanity, however, hung in the balance. This was the first and possibly only time in my life that someone would call on me for tea. And having Jane in my house felt like the biggest honor in the whole world. I wanted to get it right!
Over thinking everything, the next morning was spent making sure that we had everything that Cousin Jane could ever want. We had white sugar, brown sugar, cane sugar, an array of different kinds of sugar cubes and Splenda (just in case). Whole milk, 2%, skim and cream. We had lemons and limes, and at least eight different kinds (and flavors) of tea. I had hot water (and more tea) that could be made in my Keurig, but also my tea pot boiling water on the stove. We had enough food for a tea party for eight. We had tea cups, saucers, plates for the cookie and tarts, water and a little bin filled with ice. We even set an extra place at the table incase her daughter decided at the last minute to join us.
We were prepared.
That is, until we were all gathered around the table drinking tea, and I realized that I had forgotten to put out the silverware. In the back of my mind I knew we were missing something. It just didn’t dawn on me what it was until I saw Jane trying to eat her cake with her fingers.
Luckily, Jane had a sense of humor. If I had not noticed, I don’t think she would have ever brought it up. She was just happy to be with us, see our new house and catch up on our lives as newlyweds. The tea was just an excuse.
Jane also blessed us by coming to our rehearsal dinner and wedding back in September. I remember arriving at Mattito's, getting out of the car and suddenly seeing her standing there in the parking lot. Almost as if she appeared out of thin air. She took my arm and we walked inside. I introduced her to our friends and family, got her a margarita and presented her with her first taste of Bob Armstrong dip. It was a wonderful evening that sped by at warp speed.
But having Cousin Jane there that weekend meant the world to me. In a way, Jane was like third grandmother to me, and it felt right having her sit in the pew where Moo and Memaw would have sat had they lived to see our wedding day.
I think it is only fitting that Cousin Jane passed on June 21st, the summer solstice. She was a bright, warm light in the lives of all who knew her, much like the sun on the longest day of the year.
She will be missed.
