of woman born

Spent the weekend tucking Nini in, making arrangements for her funeral and helping to organize the dispatch of her apartment in Phoenix -- surrounded, most importantly, by family.

Which included (on this round): Two cousins, my uncle (the lone brother among six sisters) and all of my aunts. Every single one of my five brilliant beautiful maddening voluminous aunts with their hearts as big as the hills.

Each one of them their heart breaking, each one of them doing what they needed to do next each in their own way: one making sure that every one of us has the dollars we need to make it to the funeral; another drafting the eulogy; the other suggesting a desert hike; most of them in their turn making sure that everyone was eating, and then everyone: sifting and sorting, packing and planning.

Several family meetings were called, of course; important matters discussed. There was much chatter and cross-talk and sometimes hurt feelings and occasionally the volume reached such heights that I wished I had brought my noise canceling headphones along, but mostly it all worked out and mostly there were hugs and good tears and the early stages of settling into this place called grief.

And I spent the weekend amazed to be among them, sometimes startled to observe habits and gestures that are so innately and immediately their mother's, sometimes shaken to tears by thinking I was seeing my Nini pass in the hallway, when in fact it was just one of her daughters.

One of her brilliant beautiful maddening voluminous daughters, so different each from the other, each possessing a unique facet of the woman who brought them here, each sparkling full of life like she did, each uncannily strong with a sweet creamy center.

Each one of them gorgeous. Each one of this woman born.