For Mrs A

There was an old lady, let's call her Mrs A, who was born in Québec, Canada in 1924. So, Mrs A was Finnish by her parents who had travelled to Canada in 1910's in hope of finding work. Mrs A was the oldest of the three and she learned to speak French and English, but in 1928 her parents decided to travel back to Finland. So they did.

Mrs A said she'll never forget the long voyage from Canada to Finland; especially the moon and stars upon the deep blue ocean when the night was silent. She said the voyage took over three weeks and when they at last arrived in Turku, Finland, they were all tired but they needed to find a lodging place. Mrs A and her family settled down in a little village in the middle of fields and forests.

Mrs A was confirmed in the summer of 1939, few months before the Winter War started. At those times every confirmed young person was allowed to go dancing but when the war started, dances were forbidden; still, Mrs A and some local people continued organizing dances in little barns by the candle light and one guy playing accordion.

Mrs A became bookkeeper, found her love and built a house with her husband; they decided to stay in the same village Mrs A had arrived in 1928. Mrs A's husband was a skillful carpenter so the house was built well and quickly; he also made their furniture. Mrs A and her husband got two daughters who both later went to the same high school in the neighbour village; the same high school I'm attending now.

Mrs A's life was very happy, she saw the village around her evolve and her daughters growing up, but in 1986 she faced deep sadness when her husband died. However, her daughters graduated from university and she was very proud of them, even she had a big house where she was living all alone now. She continued living there where she had been living for many decades.

My first memories of Mrs A are in my early childhood, in 1995 or 1996 when I loved to tear lupines off the mounds and throw them onto the sand road which is now an asphalted road. So, Mrs A was my neighbour and she used to cycle many times a day. Her bike was an old black female bike from the 60's and everytime she saw me tearing lupines, she told me not to throw them onto the road because it looked scruffy. Anyway, Mrs A was a very gentle lady and her voice was very warm yet sharp.

Mrs A aged and cycling became harder and harder for her, so she needed to relinquish her bike. After that she started to go Nordic walking instead of cycling and at last she needed to get a walker. One winter, she was putting her walker to the storage but the ground under her feet was very icy and she slid and hit her head. She wasn't able to get up herself and if it hadn't been that cold, she would have died because a brain damage. She was found from her home yard seven hours later but the left side of her body got paralyzed; she never walked anymore. She needed to move to the local retirement home to make sure she got the necessary help and care.

I worked in the retirement home for two summers and talked a lot with Mrs A, who told me about her life and other things. She wasn't able to walk, so she sat on a wheelcair or lay on her bed. However, her memories and sense were still bright and she was a very sharp lady in her old days, even she needed a lot of help. She told me about Canada and a Coca-Cola van man who used to give her a bottle of Coke everytime he saw her. Mrs A said that the memories from our childhoods become bright golden when we ourselves become old; I think she might be right.

I used to visit her in the retirement home outside the work, too, and she often asked me to drink tea with her. She was very interested in me and my plans for future but little by little she started to get little demented; still she remembered her childhood brightly. I saw her last time in December 2010 when she told me she'll send me a card when I graduate from high school. She told me I'd better go to university and do something that matters.

Today I was planning to go and visit Mrs A because it had been a long time, but Mom gave me last week's paper; there was the obituary notice of Mrs A. She passed away on January 22nd at the age of 86, after a wonderful life, and was buried today in the cemetery of the town she lived over 80 years in. She had simply slept away as she had wished once.

I think I'll never forget the wonderful lady called Mrs A and will soon visit her grave in the cemetery. Rest in peace, Mrs A, you've deserved it.