Three weeks ago, the last thing I would have thought I’d be doing on Labor Day weekend was celebrating the life of my sister Moni, with definitive book ends on the beginning and end of her years on earth.  Instead, I should be sitting next to her on our back patio with our bare feet rudely propped on the table, dinner in the oven, drinking a beverage, and shooting the breeze.  Or maybe sitting in front of a cribbage board, bantering about who is going to win and all the points I forgot to count.  Or maybe she’d be defending my husband against something snarky I’d said.  Or more likely, I’d be here at her apartment complex watching her granddaughters swim in the pool while we watched and thought twice about whether we wanted to jump in the water because she was excited to share this space with her family.  That’s what today should have looked like if life had stayed on track.  I’ve never known a day without her, and for as many years as my memory extends, she was always so closely intertwined with my life that it is unbearable to think of my days going forward without her by my side. 

But we are here to CELEBRATE her life and the love we shared for her.  Moni was a beautiful person, inside and out.  She loved to unparalleled depths, all of her family and her friends.  I could tell her anything, no matter how raw, no matter how degrading, no matter how embarrassing, no matter how challenging.  And why not, eight years older than me, she answered all of my questions as I grew up.  And I had a lot of questions and neither of us was ever afraid of talking. 

I remember her taking me with her during her high school years, driving around in her car.  One of her friends complained about why I talked so much and why I asked so many questions.  She defended me and said all those questions is what would make me smart. She never stopped defending me – even when I was hard on myself she’d tell me all the great things she’d see in me.  When I gain weight, she’d tell me it’d make my butt look better anyway.  She was always my champion and with her in my corner, I knew I always had a chance.  But she was also the first one to make fun of me – either remind me of something embarrassing, or the many times I burned or over-salted dinner.  When she loved dinner, she’d always act so surprised that I finally made something that turned out good.  And when I cooked, she was always the audience I tried to impress.  I loved it.

She was the heartbeat for our family here in Boise, her two sons who were the pride and joy of her life, she was so proud of the men they’ve become, and she loved their wives, her two granddaughters, and my family.  Godmother to my son, and a kindred spirit to my daughter.  When we all came together, it is loud, chaotic, no one ever finishes a story (at least not on the first try), and it is fun.  We cram into the kitchen, dividing up parts of the meal between us.  We always started the evening with big bear hugs as people arrived.  Moni loved a good hug.  In the kitchen, kids running around and dogs underfoot.  Music in the background that no one can hear over the conversations that fill the room.  She loved how close we were and took pride that we have such strong family ties.  I can still imagine those gatherings, not one in particular because there were so many I just remember the feel of what its like when we were all together – I can even picture her fixing her plate, slowly (painfully slow) cutting up her food, making every bite ready to eat.  Of course, she’d always give me grief because I’d be done eating before she took her first bite.

Moni had a shine, a sparkle, an internal glow that everyone saw – it’s what everyone says about her as they reflect on her life – she just glowed.  She has always loved music and bands and the expression of life that the music world brought to those around her.  I remember taking the bus in Portland to Fred Meyer the day Def Leppard released Pyromania.  It was January 1983, I was 10 and Moni was 18. As we took the bus home, she proudly clutched the record in her hands, SO excited to go home and play it on an endless loop.  She made me guess at how to spell Pyromania, and of course I got it wrong (like that letter “y” ever made sense?).  So she kept repeating it until long after I was frustrated with it, but she stressed the importance of being able to spell even difficult words.

Moni loved the English language and learning, and most of all, she loved teaching.  It is not until I look back at my life with her that I realized how much she loved teaching and how much she taught me.  Most of the time we called it “unsolicited advice” and when we said it we were usually rolling our eyes.  But now her unsolicited advice, her mentorship, and her teachings are what I will miss most of all.  Because every piece of unsolicited advice was born out of her love for us – her desire to keep us safe, or her desire to maximize our potential.

When I was growing up, she used to write a word on a scrap of paper each week for me.  I had to find the definition, use it in a sentence and memorize the spelling.  She also told me I had to read the newspaper or watch the news to make sure I stayed on top of current events or everyone would know my ignorance.  So much of her unsolicited advice has made me who I am today and I’m grateful she was such an amazing teacher.

She taught me to pray too.  She was spiritual to the core.  One time we were talking about prayers and she was concerned I was not saying a prayer each night before bed.  She wrote down the nighttime prayer:

Now I lay me down to sleep

I pray the lord my soul to keep

If I shall die before I wake

I pray the lord my soul to take.

In the manner of her passing, peacefully in her sleep, I am comforted to know she likely said those words or another prayer as she fell asleep.  I know she took her amazing hugs and handed them out to our mom and dad – hugs she’s wanted for more than 20 years.

Moni loved life and one of the hardest parts of coming to terms with her passing is how much more life she looked forward to enjoying.  Her granddaughters.  Xailey and Leighlou were so lucky to have been loved so wholly by their Grammy.  Moni loved every minute she could spend with the girls and made the most of her time with them. Sleepovers were her favorite because she loved the routine of hanging together before bed, doing art, eating some fun snacks, and then they wrapped each other tight holding each other close as they fell asleep.  She loved both of her granddaughters so much.  Her and Xailey were particularly close.  Xailey asks the most insightful and intelligent questions, and Grammy just loved engaging in an intellectual conversation with her first granddaughter.  Grammy loved picking Xailey up from school and when Moni passed, one of Xailey’s first words of sadness were for her little sister Leighlou who was just about to start kindergarten and won’t get the chance to walk hand in hand with Grammy from the school bus to home. 

Moni was tender-hearted and she loved to love.  She cared what people thought and she’d probably be mad at me right now for saying so.  She loved her beautiful friends, ones she has had her whole life, and ones she met as recently as this year.  She loved Dave and told us all the time how grateful she was for finding this love in her life – a man who truly loved her back, who took such good care of her, who laughed and played like they were teenagers. She felt that giddy love, excited to see him, missed him when he was gone, but most importantly looking forward to a bright happy future in which they could make a home together. They went out to eat, traveled to beautiful places and spent hours talking and enjoying the company of one another.  And their love story was just beginning, and she had so many plans to love and cherish him for many years to come.

She was a rebel too and she enjoyed saying or doing things that evoked shock or at least a reaction in those around her. Oh she’d deny that one – but with a smirk on her face that would show me she was proud I said it out loud to all of you. I loved this part about her, although I was often the one that cringed, which fueled her on even more. 

I know its time to wind up my comments.  How do I stop talking about her and end my comments?  I am desperate to keep talking so I don’t have to put an end to this story and because there are so many other things to share about her.  I love my sister with all my heart, and I feel so blessed that God placed her in my life, even if it was for less years than I would have wanted.  This is not the end to her story, she filled me and so many of us with love and learning that she will continue in all of us.

My heart is bursting with pride to see all of you here, a representation of just a fraction of those she has touched and those who have loved her and who celebrate their love and friendship today.  I celebrate the life she had, and the life she has enabled me to live and the beautiful people she has left to keep her light shining on hear.  I will miss her daily friendship, her banter, her laughter, her smile and her sisterly love.  But I know she is in heaven, looking down on us, proud that we have each other, and proud that we shout our love for her.  Thank you all again for being here.  Cheers, to Moni, may God bless your journey. 

Your loving sister, Nicki