I just received word today that a dear family friend, Frances Young had passed away.
At 97 years of age, I guess it shouldn't have been unexpected.
But somehow it was.
Not a surprise like that engendered by the recent death of the relatively infantile Crocodile Hunter.
But surprise nonetheless.
I guess news of death always comes as a forceful reminder of something we try to hard to ignore.
But with Frances, you really couldn't help but think she was going to live forever. She was just such a truly amazing person. In her late 90's, her mind was sharper than most people my age, myself included. It's a humbling experience to have your mental faculties and your energy level put to shame by someone who's seen so many winters. Most people, when they get into their 80s and 90s (or late 20's in my case) start to repeat the same stories, with the details growing foggier with each retelling. But not Frances. Every meeting and conversation with her was new and interesting. Just last Christmas, she was describing the view of Lake Huron's Georgian Bay as seen from an open cockpit plane in the 1920's. And then telling us a very pedestrian story about the man who used to escort her up to the bank when she worked in a Younge St. store in the Toronto of her youth. A simple story of everyday life, but one that was a perfect extension of our conversation and one that was told in staggering detail. And her mind was so liberal and contemporary. She didn't lament how the world had changed; she'd just changed right along with it. I always wondered if it was her eternal optimism, zest for life, and her open and active mind that lead to her long life and good health. Or was it her good health at great age that enabled these?
I love the story my mom told just the other day about visiting Frances on her 97th birthday. They caught her having dinner and she hadn't been expecting them. But if she was going to celebrate with her friends, it had to be done right. So it was rum and root beer all round! But my favorite memory of Frances is from her 95th birthday party. I can still picture her tiny frame perched on my younger brother's knee. She had just made a sly comment about her position when someone went to snap a photo. Just as the shutter went, she threw up her arm in a gesture of such youthful triumph that I don't think I'll ever forget that image. A perfect combination of youth and age. Which is how I'll always remember her.
