Today is the year anniversary of my Godmother's death. I remember I learned about her death six days after the event, and that my friend, upon telling me, assumed I already knew. I remember hardly being able to breathe, and feeling utterly devoid of all physical sensations, except for the strange tingling in my fingertips and arms. My friend's voice over the telephone came in and out like the noise of traffic. I heard nothing more that she said.
Anyone who has ever been close to me in my life who has died has left with a warning. There was time to say goodbye, but my Godmother left this world without warning. Three weeks earlier I had written her a letter in Russian telling her about my pregnancy. The letter was sitting on my desk waiting to be edited and sent off. I didn't rush to send it - now I wish I had, not for her, but for myself.
There is not a day that goes by that I do not think of her and how very much I loved her. Through her simple note slipped into my college mailbox - If you would like to see the Vigil for the Elevation of the Cross, we would be happy to take you - I began my journey to the Orthodox Church. I met my husband sitting next to her at coffee hour. Indeed, everything in my life, after that service, changed. The happiness and peace I have today is, in many ways, due to her love and example. Apart from my husband and children, I consider her the greatest gift God has given me.
How I miss her - how I wish I could still write her a letter, even with all my Russian grammatical mistakes.
Lydia, tseluiu. Ya liubliu tibya.
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