[ A few words I wrote upon receiving sad news last month... ]
I'm aboard Alaska Airlines flight 3380, returning home from an unexpectly shortened trip to Portland. I was scheduled to return home this weekend, but I received the sad news that Marilyn, my mother-in-law, passed away this afternoon.
The last month has been a roller coaster of emotions. We first suspected something was up with with Marilyn's health at the beginning of July. We headed up to Piedmont to check in with her and see if we were mistaking the symptoms that we had detected over the phone. Sadly that very first trip made it immediately clear that continuing to live her own in her independent living apartment was no longer a viable option for Marilyn.
We spent this last month making alternate arrangements for her care. We consulted various medical professionals. The initial diagnosis was heartbreaking. She would live, but we suddenly faced a future where she would no longer remember who we were. The next diagnosis was crushing. Her condition was terminal.
Looking back, there were blessings over the last month. Topping that list were the unexpected moments of lucidity that we shared with her. We were able to spend precious final days with her. And the medical staff at her retirement home were wonderful.
I do not intend any of the following as any form of self-congratulatory commentary on myself. In the last month, I found myself rising to the occasion in a number of ways. I found myself in the role of caretaker - perhaps for the first time in my life.
I have somehow made it to fifty years old having lived a life largely untouched by death. Aside from the death of my grandparents, I've had the good fortune to not had death visited upon my family.
This last month gave me many opportunities to see a very different side of life. And it has given me a far greater appreciation for the people - doctors, nurses, retirement home staff, etc. - who have made it their life's work to deal with life and death day after day, week after week, month after month, year after year.
I'll hold countless fond memories of Marilyn, but I know one that will always stay with me. Marilyn, a librarian whose mastery of literature and language dwarfed my own, coined a description of me shortly after we met. She said that I was the most "couth" person that she knew. I'm not sure that I always deserved that description. I suspect that it was more a matter of managing to keep my uncouthness out of her earshot. But she continued describing me that way for eighteen years, and that always encouraged me to be the better person that she saw in me.
Soon we will journey to Southern California to fulfill her wishes: to be buried next to her husband. In the meantime we will be cherishing memories of them both.
Rest in peace, Marilyn & Robert.
I'm aboard Alaska Airlines flight 3380, returning home from an unexpectly shortened trip to Portland. I was scheduled to return home this weekend, but I received the sad news that Marilyn, my mother-in-law, passed away this afternoon.
The last month has been a roller coaster of emotions. We first suspected something was up with with Marilyn's health at the beginning of July. We headed up to Piedmont to check in with her and see if we were mistaking the symptoms that we had detected over the phone. Sadly that very first trip made it immediately clear that continuing to live her own in her independent living apartment was no longer a viable option for Marilyn.
We spent this last month making alternate arrangements for her care. We consulted various medical professionals. The initial diagnosis was heartbreaking. She would live, but we suddenly faced a future where she would no longer remember who we were. The next diagnosis was crushing. Her condition was terminal.
Looking back, there were blessings over the last month. Topping that list were the unexpected moments of lucidity that we shared with her. We were able to spend precious final days with her. And the medical staff at her retirement home were wonderful.
I have somehow made it to fifty years old having lived a life largely untouched by death. Aside from the death of my grandparents, I've had the good fortune to not had death visited upon my family.
This last month gave me many opportunities to see a very different side of life. And it has given me a far greater appreciation for the people - doctors, nurses, retirement home staff, etc. - who have made it their life's work to deal with life and death day after day, week after week, month after month, year after year.
I'll hold countless fond memories of Marilyn, but I know one that will always stay with me. Marilyn, a librarian whose mastery of literature and language dwarfed my own, coined a description of me shortly after we met. She said that I was the most "couth" person that she knew. I'm not sure that I always deserved that description. I suspect that it was more a matter of managing to keep my uncouthness out of her earshot. But she continued describing me that way for eighteen years, and that always encouraged me to be the better person that she saw in me.
Soon we will journey to Southern California to fulfill her wishes: to be buried next to her husband. In the meantime we will be cherishing memories of them both.
Rest in peace, Marilyn & Robert.
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