Rose Stavrou
She was a grandmother to my children and GG Rose to my grandchildren. As I reflect back through the years she always loved cheering them on at a soccer game, a baseball game, or a dance recital and don't kid yourself, the kids always knew when she and Papou were there to support them. As is typical in Greek/Italian families, she mixed love into all the meals she prepared, too many birthday cakes to count, so many turkeys for so many Thanksgivings, and cookies at Christmas that never seemed to end. Her chair will be empty this year and we will have to rely on our memories of this stubborn Italian matriarch who loved her family above everything else. She had a very hard time in the last couple of years because her breathing was difficult for her, but she always rallied when her family visited.
At first the memories are too painful to bear and are a reminder of what we have lost. Gradually they will help us establish the significance of our loss. In time our memories become our most prized possessions, they wrap themselves around our being and Mom, Grandma, GG Rose, becomes reborn inside our hearts. Some call this the journey of grief. It is a painful journey for us, but be comforted to know that she is now breathing with ease in the hands of God.
John Moore