Christmas Eve found me with my brother John watching the sun rise in the thick morning mist along the Ganges River at Anushahr, Uttar Pradesh. As we walked through the enveloping fog, we could hear the cheery whistling of the Ruddy Shelducks and the evocative bugling of Sarus Cranes over the rustling of the reeds.
Then, our peace was shattered by my BlackBerry’s ring. Kimberly was on the line from Delhi with the terrible news from Detroit that her mother Maureen Vreelend had just passed away at the University of Michigan Hospital.
In an instant, our entire existence was changed dramatically. Grandma, who had been such an integral part of our lives and whose indomitable spirit and irrepressible smile were models for the entire family, was no more. A woman who filled her home and our lives with thoughtfulness and generosity had finally given up her 40-year battle against myopathy and its complications.
Kimberly immediately booked a flight to return to Michigan that same day, and John, his family, Katie and I all headed back to Delhi. In the hours before Kimberly had to go to the airport, we opened some of our Christmas presents, not knowing when we would be back together. The girls and I, after canceling Katie’s travel with the cousins, cancelling our family visit to the Ranthambore Tiger Sanctuary, and cancelling our January family vacation to Kaziranga NP, made our plans to follow Kimberly home to the United States.
Michigan was cold and dreary, with old lumps of snow reminders of a recent winter storm. We arrived in Union Lake to the familiar home, filled with well-wishers who were celebrating the amazing woman who had so fundamentally touched all of us. We busied ourselves with the details of the death, with Kimberly’s capable brother Michael taking charge of the myriad details. Grandpa was in reasonable spirits as we focused on how Maureen had finally been liberated from the confines of her broken body.
The memorial was set for Saturday afternoon at a Walled Lake Funeral Home, and we prepared for a standing-room only crowd. Several hundred well wishers from the community came to pay their respects one last time.
After a couple of days to decompress, Kimberly and I decided to drive up to the northern Michigan town of Petoskey to see the Russells, a friend of Kimberly’s from childhood. Katie and Laurel stayed home with Grandpa. We were not gone 20 hours when the phone rang again. This time the caller was Katie, who had the terrible news that Kimberly’s father Bill, had suffered heart failure and had been rushed to the hospital. We dropped everything, rushed out to the car, and started our four-hour trek back to Union Lake. We had hardly left Emmet County when Katie called again from the hospital with the sad news that Mr. Vreeland had passed away.
Just like that, our Union Lake family was gone.
Like Maureen, his cherished bride of 52 years, Bill attracted hundreds of well wishers to his memorial ceremony in Walled Lake. A member of a long-standing Walled Lake family, Bill had deep roots in the community. His sense of history was deep, and it reflected in his daily life. In the Vreeland ship of state, Maureen was the captain, and Bill the mate who kept the machinery running.
After the memorial service, we all retired to the Multi-Lakes Conservation Association for a delicious dinner of fried chicken, chili-mac, and moose loaf. The hospitality of the Multi-Lakes folks, especially hosting us twice in ten days, was touching.
We all returned to Delhi January 8th, completing our two-week voyage. Now that we are back in India, we are reviewing just how fundamentally our lives have changed. The Vreeland’s home in Union Lake had been our U.S. anchor for two decades. We had always assumed that a part of our retirement plans would include helping Grandma and Grandpa in their old age.
Now, we are reassessing everything -- long and short term -- from our retirement home location to our spring and summer vacation plans. We are a long way from being back on our feet. There are many questions that will demand answers in the next months and years.
The only thing that is certain is that an important factor in our decisions is gone. Everything will be different. And that starts with the huge void left with the sudden departure of two wonderful human beings who meant so much to us all.
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