March 8.  This afternoon at about 3:20 Justine left us. When last she was able to tell us coherently how she was feeling and what she wished for, she said over and over "I hate this!"  She was in torment. Not physical pain, no; the pain of knowing that she could do nothing, that she could accomplish nothing more. She wanted to do things, to make things, to help, to participate, to visit, to love — all was denied her. And so she wanted to be gone.

This afternoon she slipped away. She was not in pain, she was not aware of the transition; one moment she was with us, the next she was not. I cannot contain my joy that it happened for her so easily and so quickly. She deserved that, at least.

Please, each in your own voice, in your own way, ease her journey to whatever be next. As for Justine's wishes on the matter, she hoped that reincarnation is real. She wished to come back either as a hummingbird, for its beauty, or as an Italian, so that she would know how to cook.

Les

Justine Aspinwall, 79, artist, teacher (art department, Ridgefield High School and Middle School, 1967-1999). A strong, independent, determined woman, who succumbed to cancer after holding the beast at bay for 17 years! During those years, she lived a full, active, out-going life, admired and respected by all who knew her. On March 8, 2021.

A private ceremony was held for family and close friends.All who knew her may participate here, at the website of the supervising funeral home, Dennis-Darcy Abriola-Kelemen. Those who wish to remember Justine by supporting a favorite cause might contribute to the Susan G. Komen Cancer Fund or, most especially, to the Praxair Cancer Center at Danbury Hospital, which cared for her all those years.

Justine is at rest now here in her hometown of Stratford, CT.

Rest quietly, dear Justine.

Being Here --- with Justine

Les's poem Waiting for You

I wish to say clearly up front how I feel, how I have felt, about your sister, your aunt, your friend -- my dear wife. A short time ago, in another communication, I included a brief poem I wrote for Justine last year on the occasion of her zillionth trip to Danbury Hospital for some test. I waited outside and jotted this, and I read it to her when she came back out. She loved it because it said plainly why I was there. It says, too, why I am here -- now.

I'm in the car outside the ER, waiting,

Leaning back, eyes closed. Willie's Roadhouse on XM.

Waiting for your call.

"Where are you? I'll be awhile."

"Okay. I'm outside. I'll be here."

"Go, get something to eat."

"Okay. Not now. I'll be here."

Where else would I be? You are the center of my world.

When I leave you for a while, it is as though I stretch a rubber band;

The pull gets stronger as I move away; it snaps me back.

Remember when we were near to losing each other in NYC?

That haunts me.

This is good. Way less stressful. I'm happier being here.

My life is being here.

Jennifer's readings

Michelle's letter

Dear Justine,

I just spoke to my parents and they shared with me your decision to stop your treatment. I was going to call, but I understand that is taxing on you, so I opted to email, which is probably best, as I will be able to thoroughly share with you how much you are loved by our family, and the impact you have had on my life specifically. Not many people have the opportunity to say goodbye to the people they love and express how much their life meant. How fortunate I am to have that moment.

From the time I could remember, you have shown me, through your friendship with my parents, loyalty, steadfast devotion and deep, deep love. I accredit the meaningful relationships I have with my girlfriends today, to women like you. I have always admired you – firstly, for your love of art and all things bright and colorful, for a big heart, a deep soul, and a fun loving sense of humor. I can hear your laughter all the way from here. We never know who's watching our lives, but I for one, have learned so much from watching yours, starting from the time you babysat us in Ridgefield.

I learned that you are the caregiver of all caregivers. I can always remember you taking care of someone, and not just checking in on them, but reorganizing your life to ensure optimum care and comfort. What a special person you are to sacrifice so much of your own life for others.

I learned that creating art and sharing it with others is an unexplainable joy. I learned that joy from you. Being creative is a gift and it fuels a deep part of me that only I can navigate and appreciate fully. I am finally creating art just for me. I remember watching you make pots on the wheel in your art room, and I thought to myself, I want to do that. I'm not quite sure how many times I was in your art room, but I loved being in the midst of creative possibilities. Thank you for sharing your art with us all. Your heart is felt in every piece we collectively own, from the beautiful pottery pieces that your hands have created, to stunning jewelry you so patiently beaded together. I will always treasure my pieces and smile. Every Swarovski store I see, I think of you and will always.

I followed your example of becoming a teacher, marrying a teacher later in life, and enjoying everyone else's kids. We're so lucky to have found men that love us deeply. I have always been moved by Les's love for you, as he would often gaze at you with a smile, as you would be in the thick of telling a good story. Who knows where his mind was, but I'm sure words were whirling around his head and arranging themselves into a beautiful poem about life with you.

Justine, I have admired your fight for the past 17 years, and admire even more, your desire for peace. You have never let your diagnosis be a gray cloud on your life. You continue to let your light shine on everyone despite how you feel. You are a remarkable woman to have fought this long with your love for life, and peace of mind intact.

How fortunate we are to have had you in our lives for all these years. As heartbroken as I am that you will leave us, I can only be filled with gratitude that you fought for so long, as we enjoyed you, and stored up wonderful memories with you.  I will always treasure our time beading in the library aboard the Carnival Princess. That makes me laugh.

I will be praying for your comfort and care that you so generously gave to others.

I will always be grateful for all the lessons I learned from you.

I love you Justine.

From my heart,

Michelle

Jen's tribute to a superhero

For Justine

I think that my stepmother was, secretly, a superhero. And not for all of the reasons that you are expecting me to say. Her superhero costume was "Art-teacher" funky. I never understood how she could mix and match colors, shapes and sizes and somehow always end up with a beautiful, funky, put-together, unique look…her superhero costume.

She had a memory only a superhero could possess. She remembered a song or rhyme from her childhood for every occasion. I could ask for a song on any holiday and she had one at the ready. One of my most precious memories is of her singing "Fat Pumpkin" to me on Halloween when I was in the hospital following my transplant. Although I couldn't remember even half of the words, I sang it for her in her last hours. Her memories of her childhood with Pudgie Zaprazelka and Aida Giovanucci were legendary. I was certain that at least some of her stories had to be made up…until I met Lorna, and then I knew that they all had to be true. She remembered every birthday, anniversary, birth, death and graduation of her enormous family. She remembered every happiness, every hurt and every struggle, which all served to hone her into that superhero.

She had a superhero's sense of humor. Her laugh had the power to make anyone around her join in. It was not a tiny "tee hee hee," when Justine laughed, she laughed. Loud and proud and full of joy. One of my favorite people to laugh with was my stepmom, and laugh we did. When something caught her as funny, there was no stopping her. She was quick to laugh and found humor in all of life's aspects; even the ones that can be hard to laugh about.

She was also a listener. Justine loved nothing better than giving advice. She loved to listen and help. She was a born crusader, and whenever anyone around her was hurting, she wanted to be there with love and support to get them back on track. She got me through my teen years this way. She would spend hours with me in the car just listening to my troubles. She never looked at her watch, never rushed me along, she just listened.

Our relationship was uniquely ours. She welcomed two troubled teens into her home and had to skip all the cute, cuddly baby years and jump right to the nasty, snarly teenage years, and I'm sure that we didn't make it easy. I would be lying if I said that it all went well, it didn't, but the beauty of it was that what began as difficulties turned into decades of laughter over the Volkswagen-sized dust bunnies that I missed with the vacuum cleaner. She called herself my wicked stepmother (with love), and I have called her mother, friend, confidant, and champion. She wanted to slay all of my dragons.

Justine brought so many new experiences into my sheltered world. She brought me a gigantic, loud, loving family of Aspinwalls, Austins and Connells that welcomed me in immediately. She and I disagreed on fashion, art, food and literature and yet we cherished the hours of  ribbing each other over these differences. I will miss her over-the-top reactions, her "screaming baby face," her stories, her "Hu-loooooooo" whenever she answered the phone.

Justine was, to me,  silly, wacky, weird, loud and funny. You know, all of the best qualities. My stepmom saw the world as black and white, right or wrong, no grey areas. I admired her for this. She never wavered. I will forever be grateful to her for loving my father and bringing her bright, shiny Swarovski-encrusted light into his life. I have never seen him as happy as when he was with her.

So, you see, she must have been a superhero. How can one woman, with teeny, tiny feet, have been all of these things to me, and Dad, and to all of you, if she wasn't , in fact, a superhero?

The Ending

[the singing bowl sounds, followed by moments of private meditation]

Les's benediction

One last little bit of poetry. This speaks of all of us and of what we are doing here, of what we can do, not just for Justine but for ourselves. It is called Being Here, and it ends this way:

Being Here

.   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .

Periodic approaches and the sharing of spaces,

The birdsongs, the seasongs, the windsongs of places,

The new lights that shine from the eyes of old faces,

Can disturb the rhythms of stagnating paces.

We review our courses, our orbits, our ends;

We renew our momentum from the touching of friends ---

Being here.

Thank you all for being here. We love you all ---

as Justine would say, "more than ice cream!"

Go safely. Be well.