Dear George,
My friend Linda and coworker
K. died from cancer a week ago Thursday at 1:30 a.m. That was a totally sad happening for many people. It was Linda’s 43rd wedding
anniversary, and her adult kids had implored her for days to hang on till that
special day arrived. It was just
like Linda to persist until she reached her goal. She was one of the two administrative staff members in
Sociology for many years. I worked
with her closely because I was the Director of Undergraduate Studies for much
of that time, and Linda did all the undergrad record-keeping and administrative
tasks. She went way beyond the
call of duty, creating personal files that she used to keep track of every
undergrad major’s progress toward graduation. While all of the students are assigned to individual faculty
advisors, Linda informally did a vast majority of the undergrad advising in the
department – far more than all the faculty combined. The students were much more comfortable with her and stopped
into her office whenever they had any questions. Linda occupied the main department office, a hectic location. She was beholden to a dozen faculty
members, grad students regularly arrived with this or that request, she
answered all the phone calls for the department, and undergrads made her office
their first stop. In the face of
chaos all around her, Linda maintained a cheery, friendly, and welcoming
demeanor. It wasn’t a forced thing
– it was her basic nature. She was
the central person in making the department a warm and welcoming place to be,
and she helped hundreds of students navigate their ways through their college
degree. Shortly before she retired
last year, I told her that I had more daily contact with her than with anyone
else in the department. Linda
smiled and modestly admitted that many people had recently told her the same
thing. Her positive impact on
people and legacy will continue for a long time.
Funerals are powerful occasions. One’s community gathers, and loved ones
share their grief. I still
remember struggling with the concept of death as a child. It’s horrendous, mind-shattering. If there’s anything permanent and
trustworthy in the world, it’s the presence of one’s parents, and the idea that
their lives will end is intolerable.
Not to mention the notion of one’s own death. I think by adulthood we more or less come to terms with
this. However, I think the child’s
naïve responses are the most authentic and valid. Death is simply beyond acceptance and beyond
comprehension.
My most direct personal
experiences with death have been with my parents and my in-laws. My siblings and I were summoned to
Menominee in April, 1986, when my mother, Doris L., was hospitalized and judged
to have only a few days left. My
brother Peter and I were in her room toward the end, and she was in a great
deal of pain. She said she wanted
to be alone, so we went out into the hall. Then we decided we should be with her since so little
time was left, and we came back in.
Doris looked up and softly whispered, “I’m grateful.” I think those may have been her last
words.
My dad, Vic L., continued to
live at their beloved Birch Creek farm for the next five years. Eventually he was unable to sustain
that, and he moved to a residential facility in Cincinnati. Toward the end, when his quality of
life had sharply deteriorated, he told me not to worry about him. He said he’d had a wonderful life, had
been surrounded with magnificent friends, and had enjoyed more rich experiences
that anyone could ever hope for.
He said he had no regrets whatsoever. I admired the peace and contentment that my dad achieved and
think it a rare thing.
My father-in-law, Buck, was
in a lot of pain toward the end of his life at age 88, and he was cantankerous
throughout the process. He was
angry with the hospital, the doctors, and the technology; irritated by family
members; and generally upset about his dire circumstances. Knowing that he was going to die, he
said he didn’t want to be left out.
The rest of us would go on doing fun and interesting things, and Buck
was most distressed that he would no longer be a part of it. My mother-in-law, Helen, lived for six
more years, but mourned Buck’s death throughout the remainder of her own
life. She felt Buck to be present
in their apartment and sometimes carried on a conversation with him at
night. Helen said she was ready for
her own death to occur so she could be reunited with her beloved husband. It was difficult for her to go on
without Buck, and she seemed to have no trepidation about the end of her life
at all.
All of this, of course, is
pretty heavy stuff. What strikes
me is that people each come to terms with the end of their lives in their own
unique ways. In the case of our
various family members, the last stages of their lives seem consistent with and
a product of all that went before.
I hope Katja and I have many years to go. It will be interesting, though, to see how we go about
this. I think I’ll document as
much of it in my blog as I can and see if I can come up with a joke or two.
Love,
Dave
G-Mail Comments
-Phyllis S-S
(2-15): Dear Dave, What a lovely, thoughtful and touching
essay. I am sorry about Linda's death… How are you doing with all of the new snow? We haven't
seen our sidewalk for a week or two. We have to climb up and over little
ice hills to get to the street.
Stay warm. Phyllis
-Donna D
(2-14): david this is wonderful
-JML
(2-14): Thanks Dad, that was great
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