Last weekend there was a memorial service about a woman who fought cancer and lost. Her sisters, and children, grandchildren, neighbors, friends, and cousins arrived to listen to the music and stories of her life. It was clear from the crowd of people who love her that she fought against her own ego and won. 

Everyone agreed that Wellesley was an angel even before she died. She brought encouragement to her family, her piano students, her loving husband even in his grief of losing her. 

Their home was a gentle place, with plenty of singing, and instruments. Humble was a word used to describe Wellesley, when she tried to stay out of the limelight. Her younger sister did manage to come up with one instance of harshness. When they were little Wellesley would order her out of the favorite chair. 

The woman we were honoring and her roommates back in college hosted gatherings called Group Soups. Friends showed up with a potato, or a carrot for the pot, and everyone would feast on conversation, community and a steaming bowl of minestrone. Even the mention of those evenings brought warmth to those of us who went, forty five years later. 

In the days before she died she pantomimed putting on her shoes, and lacing them up. Over and over in her wordless sleep, she tugged at the strings, as if preparing for a journey. I guess she was. 

Wellesley and Ian had a long engagement. For two years they had to wait to be together in one home.  Whether it was because he was from Australia, or the need to finish college first, the wedding was in the distant future. I remember feeling anxious for them, when I was only in high school and the time seemed interminable. But in the bloom of a rich life together it probably seemed like a small price to pay. 

Ian will have to wait to be with Wellesley again, probably longer than two years. But with all they have ahead of them, it will be shorter than the time it takes to put on your shoes.