Bertie, as I sometimes was moved to call her, was a terrifically creative, sweet, and sometimes fiery soul. I felt graced to be so readily accepted by her into the bosom of the family after Joanne and I fell in love. It was truly an effortless transition, as she and Ken became my second family (Steve and Pamela included). Alberta was diminutive in size, but large in spirit -- her remarkably prolific and varied artistry attests to that, but so did the loving care she bestowed on so many furry friends, as well as her passionate embrace of, sorry Steve, liberal politics -- apparently primarily stemming from her ardor for social justice.
The fire erupted when she witnessed injustice, as well as when personally disrespected, and she could be intense when so incensed. Yet an opposite quality emerged when her funny bone was tickled, as characterized best when she, and her equally vulnerable daughters and granddaughter, erupted into a veritable storm of hysterical laughter over some amusing moment. At such times, those of us not so genetically disposed, would sit in wonder at the cacophony of high-pitched hysterically funny screams and eye-watering laughter, that left them doubled up in glee -- each crescendo of giggles triggering a yet louder burst of laughter.
Then too, Bertie was prone to emit cute little moans and sighs at various times -- a gentle purring that forever endeared her to me. As did her frequent generosity, ever present in so many ways, and most regularly manifest at table, when she would lovingly ply us with a robust abundance of food.
I was also grateful for the rare moments when she provided some family adhesiveness, as it were. I speak of times when Joanne, my wife and her daughter, would be upset with me -- always with ample justification, of course. Joanne might then complain to her mother, whom she called regularly, so great was her love for her, of my insensitive behavior. (Sorry Joanne!) Alberta, as Joanne relayed to me later, would suggest she be patient, that perhaps I wasn’t altogether so bad, that for the most part she probably had a good thing in me, and in so doing, temper my dear wife’s ire. Thanks, Alberta. I really needed that -- still do, in fact. In similar fashion, she often acted as peacemaker when other small family conflicts arose, as they will invariably do in families, smoothing the path to an easy resolution.
It was with unspeakable sadness and dismay that I witnessed Alberta’s decline from the ravages of her illness. That such a stout soul should be so reduced strikes me as a travesty. During that process I was able to wonder at the love she had so clearly instilled in her family, whose steadfast support of her, love for her was so manifest as she steadily declined -- ample testament to her and their capacity for love.