This post is late, mostly because it was actually a really hard one to write for me. If it’d been 5 people that were still living it’d be easy, but adding in that I could invite those no longer with me, well that puts a whole ‘nother emotional spin on it. I’ve lost many people I love over the years, 6 have been my own children, so to choose just 5 people is difficult.
I would invite my maternal Grandmother to learn more about my family, and because I miss her laugh. So I could tell her how much her colouring on the wall with me meant to me as a child, how the way she respected my emotions had such a lasting effect on me that I always strive to respect and actively show that I respect the emotions of my children even if I don’t agree with them. It is because of her that I say “I respect that you’re angry, and you have a right to your emotions, however you do have to express them in a positive way such as talking about them.”
I would invite my maternal Grandfather to learn more about my ancestors, and to thank him for the example he gave to me of what a strong person truly was. For the lessons he’s passed down through my mother to me and to my children through me of what honour, loyalty and devotion really mean. Not just meaningless words written in attractive fonts on candle holders or wall plaques for décor but something so real and true they are almost physical things that shape all my actions and words.
I would invite my Father to be able to say all the things I never got the chance to say, and to (hopefully) hear all the things I never got to hear.
I would invite my niece, so I could see her smile one more time. I think of her and miss her every single day. I ache for all of us that are left to deal with a life without Joy. I would invite her so I could ask her if she’s happy where she is now, and to tell her again just how precious she is and always will be to our entire family.
I would invite Ben, so I could tell him how sorry I was that my body refused to listen to my heart, and so I could see him just once in this life as I told him how much I love him. I would tell him how in the quiet moments of the dark nights I think of him, I imagine what he would have looked like, and I wonder if there was any way I could have fought harder for the doctors to listen to me. I wonder if he understands that I couldn’t hold him after he was born because I didn’t want to believe the moment was real, because I didn’t want him to be gone. I didn’t want to have the knowledge that until I gave birth to him he was alive, but not afterwards.
So there’s my dinner invitations, the 5 people I wish I could sit down and dine with, all of whom can’t ever dine with me again in this life.