Oh Brigita

This story contains sadness.

Oh, Brigita. It has been a mere week and two days since you died.

My daughter-in-law from heaven has actually gone to heaven. How I wish I could tell you our son Tim and I are talking everyday. As you would know, Tim is actually quite a silent soul. You, dear heart were the gatekeeper. You were the one with e-mail and face book posts and telephone calling.

He needs to talk and I think it is very healthy. He is sharing every moment of these past three months.

You didn't want to leave him or Jacob or Nora. He says this is why you were so quiet and so positive. He told me how very realistic doctor kept waiting for you to react to his diagnosis. And you didn't.

It would be so like the Brigita I knew for you to reach toward treatment. When he canceled your chemo you found a way to continue.

Tim told me last night how you wanted a root beer float and made a very small one. This little treat threw your fleeting system off. He told me how you would strive to gain weight and gain ground and then lose it again.

I have learned of some magical moments. He told me how you and the children were looking for a relaxation spot ( before her illness ) and how you took a wrong turn and landed in a Provincial Park. You instantly feel in love with the landscape. A landscape of a small lake with white sandy beaches. It reminded you of your childhood home in Latvia.

How you and Tim met is such a random happening. I actually take credit. I was manning a booth for our small family business at the World's Figure Skating Championships in Edmonton those over 30 years or so ago. I had made a serious mistake because people were only interested in the skating results.

I could have had our booth on the ice surface and no one would have noticed our doll houses and toys. And so I talked Tim into manning the booth "for just one day". He wandered about and found the Latvian booth. Latvia had broken away from the Soviet Union and wanted the world to know they were open for private business.

Tim is excellent with money and was buying stocks and bonds with an advisor. Curiosity about Latvia caused him to take a tract about Latvian young people wanting to honor their grandparents who had owned private businesses before the Soviet era.

Wonderful Brigita. Your grandparents had owned a button factory. I always found that story visually pleasant. Tim was writing several people. Over time, the names dwindled down. To one name. Yours. And then their were the phone calls. You had learned English from an Irish teacher so you had an Irish accent.

I remember at Christmas he went into a store while his dad and I waited in the car. He came out with a giant teddy bear to send to "Brigita in Latvia".

One morning Tim announced he was flying to Latvia. Tim. Our very quiet son in his early twenties who had hardly been out of the Province of Alberta was crossing an ocean. And cross the ocean he did.

You, dear heart, came to Canada. You met in Eastern Canada at Niagara Falls . Tim wasn't anxious for you to see our rural doll house building site and so he said "Look at the time".

When you took a job in Sweden caring for children, he flew to Sweden. I still have the picture of you on a park swing in the Swedish city. The first picture I ever saw of you was on a Latvian beach. I had reached for it so quickly to see the face of this girl in our son's life.

Lo and behold. It showed you bending down a great distance away on that sandy Latvian shore. I couldn't see your face. Such a lovely face your did have. A smiling, honest, pretty face. The tributes to you ( many, many tributes ) always mention your smile, your friendly ways and your love of your children.

Jacob and Nora. It is so unfair that a sneaky, tip toe quiet, evil thnig called Pancreatic Cancer has taken your mother from you. I have a million memories of your mother telling me of your time together. Pictures of you walking to school with her by your side. Your horse-back riding lessons and ribbons you won. First day of school pictures. Trips to the Edmonton Science Center or to your small town parade on Canada Day.

Tim told me how you didn't want an ambulance because you didn't want to see the realistic doctor. He told me how he carried you "like a toddler" into another hospital where a wonderful doctor let you believe there would be a "tomorrow". The doctor who let sleep in the hospital bed beside her. He described how your breathing changed and you slipped away.

Do you know how proud I am of you both. You, Brigita for insisting on finding that "tomorrow" space and of Tim for listening to you. I understand. You didn't want to believe you were actually leaving. You wanted to beat the tiny little odds.

Tim is being very open about the hard parts of losing you. Daily reminders of you everywhere. In every room. The forgetting for a moment you are gone.

And finding the library keys. The keys to the library where you worked. The library you wouldn't leave five minutes before closing time. "Someone might see me leaving my post early".

That is what the past three months were all about. My daughter-in-law from heaven who is now in heaven .

You simply didn't want to leave. You crossed an ocean for love. You left your childhood home. You landed miles and miles away from the white sandy Latvian beach. You made new friends. You impressed your neighbors. You had just finished your training to be a teacher's aide. You wanted to close the library.