What do you expect...

What do you expect?

It became her refrain, her coda:
What do you expect? I'm 92.
If I asked about how she was feeling.
Or if she was frustrated by some little thing that used to be easy.
What do you expect? I'm 92.
What do you expect?  I'm 90.
What do you expect?  I'm dying.

Often accompanied by a shrug of her shoulders,
Hands raised, palms up, dismissively.
What do you expect?

It communicated resignation.
Sorrow.
Grief.
Sadness.
Acceptance.
Humor.
Contentment.
Love.

So why should it surprise me when a few months after she died,
Biking past her now empty apartment
Overcome with one of those waves of grief that leave one sobbing
Unable to see the way ahead
I hear her voice in my ear,
But Evan, what do you expect?

And I, a moment later, answer:
Well what do you expect?
That I wouldn't grieve?

What do you expect? 

Greencroft is hosting a memorial service tomorrow afternoon for all in the courts who died in the last year. They invited each family to say a few words. This is my offering.