Saying Goodbye

I’d been planning to write this post for several weeks, but just couldn’t get myself to do it. I guess it’s because I didn’t want to acknowledge the finality of our loss and we have suffered too many losses both last year and this month.

Last month, I had to say goodbye to my witty, funny, brilliant cousin, Walt. He knew so much about everything and was interested in everything and everyone. He was an excellent cook and kept trying to find the best beans to grind for coffee. He'd share the beans with Art that he felt had a certain flavor or aroma or whatever and he'd attach notes on each little bag explaining how he roasted it, etc. Now, every time Art takes out his Dunkin Donuts coffee bag, he thinks about Walt.

Walt, who was 10 years younger than me, had been fighting bladder cancer and it seemed as though he had overcome this horrible disease. I thought he'd won. He once laughingly told me, "I'm too mean to let cancer beat me." 

But then suddenly... he wasn't able to fight off that last battle. We saw him at the hospital looking quite upbeat before the pandemic hit. I spoke to him on the phone at the hospital and he sounded perfectly fine toward fall of last year. But I worried when he started leaving a few comments on my blog in October ending with "love, your cousin Walt." We almost never use that "l" word. I do, but well... not my male cousins. That made me nervous.

He called me in November from the hospital and we spoke for nearly 45 minutes. He told me it was bad and though the doctors gave him 6 months, he didn't think he could make 2 because the pain was so unbearable. 

When my blogger buddy, Linda from Kansas learned of this, she sent me a set of hospice books for Walt's family and one for me.

They are written by hospice pioneer, Barbara Karnes. Her website is bkbooks.com. 

Walt's wife told me that the books were very helpful.

I couldn't open the books until we decided to go and visit Walt at his home when we knew his days were limited. They are very well written and structured step by step.

I couldn't believe the change in just a little over a month. Walt was bedridden and could no longer talk but when my brother and I held his hand, we felt the pressure of Walt's grip.

Leaving the house, we said  goodbye and suddenly there was a sunshine smile on Walt's face with a very slight wave. I will always remember that smile. Walt died two days later.

I was still reeling from Walt's passing when we got a call from good friends in California.

We met Mike and Jean during a biking trip in the Netherlands in 2007. We were still living in Illinois at the time. I hadn't been on a bike in 30+ years and suddenly here I was biking through the Netherlands and Belgium. Art was in an advanced group. I was in the turtle group. Jean was also a teacher and she took me under her wing and watched over me. There was one incident when her bike wheel hit a curb and she fell. What did she do? She got up (with bleeding leg), turned to me worriedly and asked, "Are you all right?" 

After that we saw each other whenever we went to California and they came to visit us in Hawaii. We have a lot of photos of our fun times together.

When we got that call last month from Mike that Jean was fighting an undiagnosed cancer, I absolutely could not believe it. Jean is also younger than me. She was meant to live forever always helping others and never putting herself first. She loved horses. She loved teaching handicapped children. We all loved her. I ordered a set of those hospice books to be sent to their daughter who passed it on to Mike for me. They were in some sort of assisted living with the option to move on to hospice care when the time came. I sent photos to her daughter that they could add to her digital frame in her room. Mike said they expected to be there for quite a while.

Mike called two days ago to tell me Jean had passed away in the morning. How is this possible? Mike says the end came so suddenly that they were all surprised.

He thanked me for the books which he said were extremely helpful to him. Knowing that Jean is more of a private person, he told her that when she felt she needed to go, not to worry about them because they were prepared and he left the room to call their children to let them know what was happening. Returning to the room, he found that Jean had quietly left us all.

I think of her going ahead of us, leading the way and teaching us how to make that final journey with dignity and grace.