Yvonne Marie Kalita, 1943 - 2003

Yvonne Marie Kalita, born July 10, 1943, passed away at her residence April 14, 2003 at the age of 59 years. Left to mourn are: her loving husband of 37 years, Carson Kalita; her daughters, Wendy Blais and Toby, Tammy and Susan, and her son, Mikita and wife Jo-Anne; grandchildren Melissa, Tabitha, Mitchell, Jacob, Tia and Raegan; sister Avenel and Syd Caudron their sons Scott and Robert and wife Sylvia; brother Metro and Joan Yarmey and their children, Matthew, Sally, Michael, Oliver and Elizabeth. She was pre-deceased by her mother Pauline and father Yaris Yarmey, sister Sally Sampietro and brother Eli Yarmey. Dear Mom, I've put this off for some time now. You've been gone for almost four months. But, like all life's lessons you taught me, some things just have to be done whether you like it or not. Just to let you know about some of the goings on. Dad's lost some weight and his learning curve has greatly increased. He expresses appreciation for everything you did for him; I don't believe he realized just how much you did. He's learned how to cook, and not only for himself, does laundry, dust, and mop floors. Miss C. is a great comfort to him, but still complains lovingly about cleaning 'dirty feet'. Us kids are carrying on, with bursts of emotion and tears at memories of you. Your grandchildren, Mitch and Tabitha, graduated a couple weeks ago. It was a beautiful day with both of them looking real good. I know you would have been so proud of them. Mitch left to CDI College in Edmonton last Thursday and is so excited about learning computer programming. Jacob's going to Grade 11 and he got his driver's license yesterday. He was happy because he beat his brother by getting his first. Tabitha is in Grande Prairie today registering for college for fall. Melissa is busy working at the pharmacy, and is eager about going to the University of Alberta in the fall. Tia and Raegan are growing so fast, it pains me you're not here to teach them your ways. I'll try to remember to show them how you drew stick dogs, houses and people, to listen to all kinds of music and read books. I'll teach them how to weed the garden, play with kittens, smell flowers, go for walks in the trees and pick pussy willows in the spring. I planted a garden at the farm. Pat was right when he said at your 'Gathering' that you were almost a chemist when it came to creating soil. It's a good garden. We've already had a couple feeds of lettuce, onions and radishes. It's comforting and emotional working in the garden without you there. I look up and almost hear you talking to me about the things we need to do next. I feel so close to you there. Aunty Avenel misses you so much and is busy in her gardens and with work. Your brother Metro's wisdom and guidance are appreciated. He spoke about you at the 'Gathering'. It seems even in death you encouraged us each to find strength that we believed is beyond us. We're going to be OK. I'm often reminded of your words, "Look after the living". Today would have been a day when the phone would be secretly ringing between us kids, dad, and Aunty plotting a special surprise for your 60th birthday. Maybe we would have taken you to the river at Alder Ridge, have a picnic and enjoy nature. I know you would have enjoyed the sound of water and children's laughter. "Happy Birthday, Mom, from all of us." Words just don't seem to fill the void in my heart today, but like a friend comforted me, "The hurt never really goes away, you'll just find new ways of coping with it." You always marveled at how life was new and precious everyday like the intricacy of a woven tapestry. Grieving, you said, was another life lesson and given time, we'll all heal despite the pain. Life must go on. Thank you so much for all the lessons you taught me and for the ones you allowed me to learn on my own. I'm at peace knowing you're not in pain anymore. I read somewhere about a boy who passed away after suffering from an illness. He wrote to his mom after he got to heaven: "Tonight I get to sit at the table with Jesus for supper. I'm sure the food will be great. Oh, I almost forgot to tell you. I don't hurt anymore. The pain is all gone. I'm glad because I couldn't stand that pain anymore … and God couldn't stand to see me hurt so much, either. That's when He sent The Angel of Mercy to come get me. The Angel said I was Special Delivery! How about that?" Somehow, Mom, this seemed to make your not being here a whole lot more bearable. I'm sure as you sit at God's table and eat, the conversations will be entertaining and joyful. I smile knowing you're in His hands. Love, Sam.