Dear Ethel,
Remember how we started calling each other Ethel and Bertha? I got knocked down by a large dog at the Marymoor Dog Park and severely sprained my ankle. Some how you managed to get a hobbling me and our two dogs into your car and off to urgent care. I was apologizing to you as you wheeled me into the radiology and you said "hey, this will be us when we are in our 80s, taking each other to doctors appointments, going on 3 day cruises and bingo halls - you and me, Bertha and Ethel!"
Last weekend I went to Portland to the COVID-belated wedding celebration of your son J and his beautiful bride C along with many of the other friends that raised our children together. Frankly, I was a bit nervous that I would be an emotional mess; that I would miss you so much in midst of this wonderful celebration that I couldn't take it. But, of course, I heard your voice in my head as I parked my car for the Friday night get together.
"Suck it up, Bertha! We going to party!"
Walking toward the "Tough Luck" bar in Portland, I paused for a moment - you would have loved it. The converted auto repair shop into a restaurant bar, the giant Ouija Board painted on the wall, the lights strung out over the outside tables, Fall in Portland, our friends and the friends of our children....it was perfect in the way once in a lifetime moments are; I took a mental picture to be stored in the place that all special moments live forever.
J greeted me with a big hug "I'm so glad you are here!" and the happiness of the moment filled me. I felt you there, Ethel.
The next morning as I walked around Portland, a city that you loved, I could hear your quick steps next to me. We would have gone into vintage stores, you would have found that perfect vase, picture, pillow and have known exactly where you would have put it. You would have teased me about my coffee obsession and laughed at the fancy cappuccino with honey, cinnamon, cardamom and pepper. When I had a 45 minute conversation with a gentleman about art deco architecture and conserving it creates community which ended in us exchanging number, I know you were there with that "Go Bertha!" grin on your face.
I'm sure you got a kick out of Lynne, Heidi and I all showing up in purple for the event....we were your representatives, holding your spirit.
I'm sure you were there, taking in every detail - the beautiful venue, how perfect the tables, food was delicious and the atmosphere was joyous. You would have buzzed around the room greeting everyone, pointing out where the drinks and appetizers were. You would have fussed over J's collar of his suit because you couldn't find the words to say how proud you were.
J and C, surrounded by friends and family, recited the vows from the wedding ceremony that had been on Memorial Day Weekend...they were both funny and poignant. I was so happy that you had gotten to meet her at a soccer game, long before they were a couple. I wondered if in some way you had a hand in all this love. I swear you squeezed my hand to tell me you were there.
The band started playing and we all danced until the end of the evening. We celebrated love and happiness and the future of our children and their tribes.
As we left to walk the down the street, I looked up to see the stars between the buildings of downtown Portland. I swear I saw you ahead of me, like always, walking to the hotel, swinging your high-heels in your hand, your pashmina sliding off your shoulders, looking back at me, saying "catch up, Bertha!"
Ethel, you were gone too suddenly, too soon and too young. You won't be there to push me into the Bingo Hall when I'm 90 like we planned. Until we meet in that heavenly realm, I will always hear your voice "Come on, Bertha! Let's go!"
I'll end this letter like we ended every phone call and conversation "Love you, Ethel!" and I am sure that you are saying "Love you back, Bertha!"
Love you,
Bertha
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