Gladys Marilyn Bellamy

It’s a poem. Because of course it is. One last poem. Not as good as yours.

Making memories was your goal. You have always been at the centre of ours.

Napping on the couch after school. The frantic clanging of the potato masher against a steel pot in the kitchen. The trumpet sound of you blowing your nose. Eyes closed in every picture. Teasing you about your pants with knees. Food with no salt. Kids growing taller than Gram. You always knew our teasing was with love.

Our memories of shared laughter.

Cocktail hour at the lake. Playing canasta or Jackbox into the night. Hours on the beach. Swimming to the island. Camp Gram every year.

So many friends. So many lunch dates. Playing Scrabble. Chasing you with Narcisse snakes. Scavenger hunts. Bombers games. Old Spaghetti Factory.

Travelling together. Seeing the world together. Your excitement over homemade sandwiches for lunch. Acropolis heat. Wading into the fountain at The Louvre.

You loved routine and tradition: The Forks every Sunday. 131C at Shanghai. A star. An angel. Two bells. Your presence: so dependable, so safe, so grounding.

Our memories of your kindness.

You always gave people the benefit of the doubt. So forgiving. So unconditionally kind. It made you fearless. You opened your heart to people others had written off. Friend, family, or stranger in need, it didn’t matter. You were there for them.

Sleepless nights sewing COVID masks for the homeless, fearlessly handing them out in bus shelters along Main Street. One thousand masks made.

Our memories of your selflessness.

You sacrificed yourself to give Dad the best life you could, with a kindness and grace that most could not imagine, determined to fight dementia until the end.

Our memories of your strength.

You beat cancer and came back stronger than ever. Everyone says they will, but you did it. You rose up. You got stronger. You took control and backed down from nothing. You built a new life on your own.

A lifetime of sleeping in the car on the way to the lake, then you became the driver.

You were so independent, but you also depended on ‘your crew’. We were your team.

Our memories of your support.

Your pride in us has been our support pillar for our entire lives. Softball games in the Gram Chair. Endless hours shivering in a cold hockey rink yelling, ‘Shoot!’

Showing you my designs was the point. Writing in the newspaper. Every word written to you, to talk about later. You policing the letters to the editor for dissenters.

The daily 4:00 phone call to guide the way home. Debriefing about the day. Your midnight texts like clockwork: “How you hon?”

Worried about the world. Worried about those you love.

Our memories of your love.

Nobody loved more than you. Nobody was loved more than you.

You always said that you wanted to make memories. You will forever be at the heart of ours.

If you love with all your heart and soul, an Irish Goodbye is enough.

Love you. Bye.

Our family asks for privacy in this time. If you would like to honour Gladys Bellamy, please give a long hug to someone you love, or donate in her name to the Winnipeg Humane Society.