We buried kindness today. Not all of it, but one of its quiet shining lights.
Some of my fondest childhood memories of large family gatherings caught root in a duplex in Saint-Michel. Many begin with sounds: us kids noisily playing in the garage, our dads arguing on the main floor over a heated card game, pots whistling and frying pans rat-a-tatting in the basement kitchen. The TV was always humming in the background for good measure, but nobody paid any mind to it. Holding the hubbub together was Carmela’s voice, soft, gentle, calmly piloting the evening through the storm of activity.
Carmela passed away last week.
You hear stories about people like Carmela, who never raise their voice in anger, never utter an unkind word, told with the same too-awesome-to-be-true wonderment reserved for myths and legends. Imagine being superhuman like that?
But Carmela was the real deal, the peacemaker among the chaos, lining the trenches of turmoil with daisies.