My Story of Anne


By Andrea Shewchuk

I went into my stationery and boxes to find wrapping for the trinkets I would take to Susan tomorrow.

I had wondered late last week, before, where the calendar had gone, through our recent move and other clearings, what had made the “filter” process, my mind drifted momentarily into the bigger concept of change, impermanence, importance…

I rooted around in the envelopes and cards, and there at the back, peeking out, was Anne’s 2011. She had given it to me and said that hopefully it would be marked with many more times getting together in the future.

Anne had sent Susan to buy a gift each for me and my mother when we had lunch late in 2010 – mine was the 2011 calendar, The Twelve Muses.

Mitch Albom’s have a little faith is ironically, by accident, deliberately, by the hands of coincidence, well-placed next to me as I write.

Anne, her husband and my parents were mostly, almost, lifelong friends, intertwining business and pleasure and the cottage and boats and families and travel, sharing party sandwiches, deli food and everything else that presented itself on the path. This is how I came to know one of the best friends in the world, Susan, the daughter of Anne.

Anne was part of every stage of my life, and now.

She offered advice that, at younger ages, was not necessarily well-received, but always true and helpful, secretly, at any age.

Poised, graceful and sophisticated through any storm, appropriate to every occasion and celebration, Anne was picture-perfect etiquette and outfitted to every detail.

When her health was slightly compromised, she carried on.

When her health worsened, she carried on.

She was never without support for everyone around her, always, if even when she needed it most, it was not returned or nowhere to be found as it happens sometimes, in the emptiness, she carried on.

She always had encouraging, positive words for any challenge that life brought, lending light to its end, a wisdom of knowing that the pain would not last forever, and reminding everyone of this.

Anne’s condition only propelled me further to learn, know, work harder, educate and cure myself of my own similar issues.

If it were not for her, I am sure I would not have found the strength, energy and will in her reflection, in myself, to keep breathing.

Anne changed the world.

The Muse for January is “fearless”.

 

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