The first day of Spring unquestionably arrived yesterday. The day before was Winter – my friend Shannah and I were up on Mt. Bachelor, gritting our teeth against the 40mph+ winds pelting the chairlifts with drifting snow – but yesterday morning saw warm weather and the distinctive scent of clean air, fresh pine and juniper that only a spring rain shower can bring. In celebration, Roni and I went for a walk along the River Trail and her tail-wagging agreement that, yes, this is in fact Spring, was in ample evidence as she chased a rabbit, a couple of squirrels, and even a couple beautiful young bucks (see picture) that decided to munch the shrubbery outside our office window when we returned home.

Later that afternoon, I got the expected call from my friend Doug to go for a bike ride with him and Tod, and the three of us were soon riding through the backroads here, chatting and laughing, and enjoying the emerging warmth and vitality of the landscape around us. It was a great start to the new season.

And somewhere along the way, as I was enjoying this spectacular day, my Aunt Peg passed away. I returned home to find the announcement from my uncle in my Inbox:

Margaret “Maggi/Peg” Kieffer peacefully passed away in her sleep at 3:05 PM on March 24, 2006. Jacques, Jenny, Thierry, and I were present to cheer her onward in her new adventure. Although we are very sad at her departure, we know that Peg would have wanted us to be cheerful and to recall the many positive memories of the past 29 years for us and perhaps longer for some of you. Since her initial diagnosis of Stage 4 cancer in March 2005 to her very last moments in a severely deteriorating physical condition, Peg was always her usual upbeat, optimistic self. She retained her keen sense of humor and brilliant mind to the end. Peg shared a full life with her close family, both immediate and extended members and valued her many good friendships. She always made quick friends with her warm smile and kindhearted nature. She relished her adventures and cultural experiences during her travels to about 60 countries.

We have lost a great wife, a fantastic Mom, and a superb friend, but Paradise has gained a highly inquisitive angel. We can already hear her echoing her life’s motto: “Live, Love, Laugh!!”

Peg will be cremated and a portion of her ashes will be buried at the Columbarium at Arlington National Cemetery. She will be expecting many of you to stop by for a spiritual chat. Another portion of her ashes will be buried in Santiago Atitlan, Guatemala, the native Mayan village that so captured her love of people, geography, textiles, and archaeology. In lieu of flowers, the family asks that a prayer be said for the safe and peaceful journey of her soul. If anyone wishes to provide a donation in her memory, please contribute to your local Hospice Foundation. Their volunteers were incredibly humane and generous of spirit in their support to both Peg and us, particularly during these final weeks.

We appreciate your many kind prayers and thoughts during this past difficult year. May God bless her soul.

As I read the above, I am humbled by how little I know about her, and how little effort I took to remedy that. It is embarassing, really. I would like to add my own praise here, to her life well lived and the remarkable person she is, but my memories are few and far between – a visit with her in Guatamala when I was 9, some small family get togethers here and there in my 20’s and 30’s, and then my visits with her a scant few weeks ago – and I am afraid I can not do her justice. My view of the panaroma of her life is thru a small window indeed. But what I have seen, and what I remember, is of a warm, caring woman, with remarkable laughter and an intense intellect she brought to bear on the world around her.

I would stop there, but for the impact my last visit with her had on me. It was just under a month ago and I arrived to join her friends, Sue and May, at her bedside. My aunt lay apparently exhausted in bed, her hair and clothes disheveled, and so we arranged ourselves in the tight confines around her to talk and catch up. At lunch May prepared some food and we found ourselves quietly trying to juggle conversation and spring rolls while attempting to soak in every precious moment with my Aunt. It was, if not awkward, at least a tad uncomfortable, but certainly a small price to pay.

And so it was against this backdrop that my aunt’s sudden suggestion that we retire to the dining room table so we would be more comfortable caught me by surprise. We asked, “are you sure?”, and she simply said that we needed to leave so she could get dressed. I was impressed and admittedly a bit skeptical that she would be up for it, but the comfort and legroom offered was a welcome reprieve. And so we moved to the dining room, chatting pleasantly, and, sure enough, my aunt joined us in short order, dressed, hair combed, and as engaging as ever.

She did not, could not, eat. She simply sipped at a cup of tea as she inquired about our lives, and offered her thoughts on the various topics at hand. We could have had this same conversation in her bedroom where I’m sure she would have been more comfortable, but that is not the way she wanted it. Thus, the legacy my aunt leaves for me is a subtle redefinition of Dignity. Her concern for us, in spite of her own condition, and her ability to summon energy solely for the sake of her friends and family’s comfort, has made a profound and hopefully lasting impression on me.

My last memory of her was as she walked down the steps of her house and out to the car that would take her to a chiropractic appointment. She was facing away from me, but the pain in her step was evident. Yet help was not asked for, nor offered, or even expected I suppose; evidence of some undercurrent of respect for her hidden strength and dignity.

It is light enough to see outside now and winter is upon us again – three inches of snow have fallen overnight. I think I will go ski or snowshoe, wait for Spring to return, and remember my aunt fondly.