My Aunt Jane McGonigal passed away this summer. She was my Mother’s
only sister, and my last surviving aunt. It’s okay that she passed; she lived a
long productive life and was well loved by many. I drove from the mitten across
Canada to Ithaca, New York where the family was gathering to send Aunt Jane on
her way.
Tribute boards of pictures had been set up in the basement
of the Presbyterian Church to be viewed after the service while everyone
enjoyed a beautiful lunch. I was hesitant to go over and look at them as I wasn’t
sure I would be able to maintain my composure… but eventually, after the crowd
had thinned out, I did. I fought back my tears as I gazed upon the likenesses
of my aunt and mother – these two remarkably courageous women.
Raised on the family dairy farm in tiny Horseheads, New
York, somehow the Wigsten sisters were completely fearless. It is really beyond
me how these children of the depression era, these farm girls from a tiny town
grew up to be such strong and brave women. Both of them spent their lives
quietly fighting for those who were less fortunate, those in need, wherever and whenever they saw it.
They were completely fearless.
After the service, on one of the hottest days I can remember
in upstate New York, the family gathered at the beautiful farm of my cousin Cathy.
As there often is at these kinds of events, there was plenty of food, drinks,
laughter, and tears. It was wonderful to spend time with my cousins, George and
his Cathy, Peggy and her Tom. But it was also very wonderful to spend time with all their adult children, to get to know them, and enjoy what wonderful people they
have become.
Sitting under a huge tree on the side of the house,
overlooking the farm, as deer meandered by, I enjoyed spending a brief time
with the cousins, and remarked on my astonishment that the Wigsten girls had
grown to be so fearless. And how their daughters and grand-daughters and now
great-grand-daughters were following suit – each in their own way.
I enjoyed getting to know the McGonigal grand-daughters Katie, and Lorna, and her daughter Zora, who is four years old. Lorna showed me
pictures of Zora participating in protest marches in Philadelphia, where they
live. Zora thinks protest marches are a lot of fun and from the picture she
clearly enjoys making her voice heard. The Wigsten women and/or the McGoniGals clearly have the same kinds of
fearlessness.
You can only imagine my astonishment to find that Zora (at
four years old) knows the chorus to “Rock my Hijab” written and performed by my
friend from Flint, Michigan, Mona Haydar, another one of the bravest women I have ever met. I am so proud of all the strong women
in my life.
