Requiem for Rosemary

A very special person passed quietly from this world on the nineteenth of Febrary.  My Aunt Rosemary, having suffered from lymphoma for over four years, went softly on that morning to meet the Jesus she spoke about so often.  She was a shaping influence in my life, especially in the last ten years, making me wake up, take notice and welcome each day as a gift.
As a child, I saw very little of my extended family.  My father's churches were too far for a weekend visit and most major holidays are also busy times for the congregations he served.  The few memories I have of my aunt center around her home at the edge of the Badlands outside of Belfield and in her studios.  Rosemary was a professional artist, enjoying several mediums with which she expressed her love for God's creation.
Her curiosity spurred her to experiment with different techniques and I have one of her "practice" pages of watercolor that she used to practice with alcohol and table salt.  The salt made fireworks patterns on the watercolor.  Although meant to be a scrap, it would look handsome matted and framed.  Rosemary once told me that she had created a sculpting "clay" with wonderbread and Elmer's glue as she felt that was the only realistic use for wonderbread.  She was very involved in the art community and designed the cover for a recent art show that featured Christmas elves. 
Getting reaquainted with my aunt took place during a marathon after Christmas road trip to my folks' home in South Dakota about five years ago.  I drove late into the night and we talked.  Her extravagant vision of the simple was truly amazing to me.  She didn't simply enjoy a sunset.  The detail of the sun's rays against the field, the birds' flight plans and the cooling as the sun was put away for another day opened my eyes to the world around me in a new and amazing way! 
Rosemary was a musician and we gathered at my parents' piano in the evening, my stumbling accompaniment and our voices blending singing until we were hoarse. A few years ago, following the Spirit's prompting, she wrote a Mass.  She was quick to point out that God created the Mass; she was just the instrument through which it was given.  I was gifted a handsigned, embellished copy of this music.  Playing the triplets and the somber repentence measures gives you a glimpse at her relationship with her Jesus.
Much of the time I shared with Rosemary in the last few years was spent at her hospital bedside.  The first diagnosis of lymphoma was met with courage and her brave willingness to face the chemotherapy with her typical humorous response, "let's get this circus train rolling!".  That was the visit that I donned tights and wings to present myself to her as a fairy.  My brother will likely never forgive me as we attracted attention at the elevator from a man who could hardly contain his bursts of laugher until the doors closed.
She would greet me with "hey, girlfriend" as I would enter her hospital room after a long day. Sitting beside her bed, we talked about everything -- sketchings and projects she wanted to do, food, family and even funeral requests.  No subject was off limits and she always believed that I could handle any conversation topic she threw out.  After a while, I believed it too.  While it was hard to think about my life without her here, I knew that it was another adventure she would embrace with a passion.
My last visit with her took place about three days before she passed away.  She was no longer responsive, having suffered a stroke.  A couple of friends filed in to her room and introducted themselves.  They knew us from her conversations about us, bragging about her "curly haired ball of wonder" as she often referred to me.  Those moments were beautiful as they began to us how much they loved her.  She has the gift for making everyone in her midst special and it was evident that these people came to thank her for being part of their lives.  One man stood by her bedside and prayed the Rosary as we cherished that time with her.  When the time came for me to leave that last evening, he asked if he could stay a bit longer, no doubt wanting a few more minutes with that amazing woman.
Rosemary was often perplexed that people sought her out, like a sage on a mountain top.  I wasn't surprised at all.  She had so much wisdom and she was so accepting of each person that came into her presence.  I, too, will miss making those mini pilgrimages to sit at her feet and soak up her affirming advice.
Her funeral mass was quite large and it would have given her joy to hear the music and be in the company of her many, many friends.  They came from all walks of live, people in business suits and farmers, children and the elderly coming to pay their respects to this wonderful woman.  The lunch after her funeral service was provided by the cafe where she had worked.  Vast amounts of mashed potatoes, gravy, vegetables and cheese buttons were enjoyed as people laughed, talked and remembered.
In the spring, Rosemary will be laid to rest in a small country cemetery.  She picked out the spot and talked about how beautiful it was there; so peaceful and quiet. Her God fashioned that prairie place, perhaps knowing that she would rest there.