I am weary of death. I saw far too many people die while I was working hospice, and comforted so many loved ones. I still think about them all. On occasion, something requires that we return to New Bern and, as we drive past various streets, I remember those whose deaths I attended. Some had lived to a ripe old age and some were still young. Each death was a loss, but a few had become special to me and I felt those losses the most.
In the last year I have lost three friends of varying degrees of friendship. All in their early sixties...far too young...far too soon.
The one year anniversary of Kathy's death is nearing. I blogged about losing Kathy some months ago. She was only 61 and left behind two children in grad school...just entering adulthood. She will never see them walk across a stage and receive their degrees. She will never have the pleasure of watching them marry, mature and enjoy some of life's successes. She will never know the pure joy of holding a grandchild and all that follows. We will never have the opportunity to hug one another. She will be missing so much and we will be missing her.
Ann was one of my closest friends when I lived in Miami. We lived two doors away from each other and had boys the same age who became fast friends. Rarely did a day pass that we didn't spend time together. I moved 800 miles away when our boys were 9, by then she'd had a daughter about two years younger than mine. We stayed in touch, but the friendship slowly receded into the past. In recent years Facebook helped us reconnect. Then, in June of this year, she messaged me. The breast cancer she'd beaten over twenty-five years ago had come back and, while it responded to treatment for a couple of years, she was not winning the battle. She said she wished I was there, that she would be needing hospice soon. She was tired of fighting and wanted to die on her own terms. She said she was almost ready to stop treatment and that she was scared. We talked for a while and I gave her my cell number. She never called. Six weeks later she passed quietly. She was 66 and had three small grandchildren on two coasts who will grow up without their grandma.
Lynn was one of the beautiful girls in high school. We were not close friends but our school was all-girls and our class small enough that everyone was friendly. I learned that she was a beloved kindergarten teacher for many years. Our graduating class began reconnecting on Facebook about five years ago. It was surprising how we felt a kinship, we are TMLA sisters (TMLA being an acronym for our high school). I saw Lynn three years ago at a reunion luncheon she helped plan. She was still one of the beautiful girls. This year was our 45th reunion. Although she still lived in the area, Lynn RSVP'd that she could not attend, that she had been diagnosed with ALS and had lost her ability to speak and to eat. It was a blow to all of us. Lou Gehrig's Disease is vicious...making you a prisoner in your own body before it kills you. Lynn bravely carried on as the disease robbed her of more and more function until she was a prisoner. A week ago her daughter-in-law announced that Lynn's quality of life had deteriorated to near non-existent and that Lynn had made the decision to discontinue her tube feedings. She died Friday, leaving behind her mother, her husband, her son and daughter-in-law and a slew of former students, friends and TMLA sisters. She was 63.
Kathy's death was unexpected, with no opportunity for anyone to say goodbye. Ann and Lynn had the opportunity to say goodbye to their families as they made courageous decisions to let go. I don't know if I could be that brave...and I hope I never have to find out.
