When Good People Die

My favorite sister-in-law passed away this week. Her lungs had been compromised for the past few years, but recently she’d spend ten days in ICU and she died when they took her off a ventilator. An all too common story lately although I kind of doubt Covid was in the picture because her whole family was with her when they pulled the plug. Dianna didn’t smoke, ate healthy, exercised religiously and didn’t have an ounce of fat on her body. She was that person who took care of family or friends when their spouse or child was in the hospital. She’d bring her picnic basket fulled with fruits and healthy snacks and water bottles. She didn't just give you the line, "If I can do anything, let me know..." She'd follow that up with suggestions like letting your dog out or feeding your cat or bringing your mail inside, picking your kids up from school or doing your laundry. One time after Don’s massive stroke, she even showed up with her PJ's to stay overnight in the hospital with him and told me to go home and sleep in my own bed. He was in the hospital an entire month and she was my angel hovering in my peripheral, stopping by every 2-3 days to check on us. She was a pre-school teacher for over 25 years and she was also a Trump supporter, an enigma I’ve never been able to figure out. I didn’t try very hard because, well, she was such good person to her core and sometimes you have to accept the dark differences in those you love.

Don had three older brothers. The second oldest never understood or even pretended to have much respect for his kid brother. He was all about tennis shorts and cashmere sweaters and Don was all about denim jeans and cowboy boots. His oldest brother took on more of a mentor role who clashed heads with his sons and Don equally but their two-way love and respect always came through. The brother closest to Don’s age was still ten years older than Don and he was married to Dianna. They were also in the tennis shorts and cashmere stratosphere of life but they never forgot where they came from---lovely, classy people who didn’t judge Don for his blue collar life. And you could always count on them for certain things: gourmet dishes to pass at family parties, always looking like they stepped off the pages of a fashion magazine and sending Christmas cards with photos of the whole family dressed alike. Even after their grandchildren were college graduates, they still did the cards with the matchy-matchy outfits---ten people all lined up for a photo taken on a summer vacation. I didn’t get their Christmas card this year which sounded the first alarm bell that something serious was going on at their house.

I’m at that time in life when the lack of a Christmas card becomes a clue to something we’re really not ready to face. My best friend since kindergarten also didn’t send out cards this year. To make matters more ominous her email had been recently hacked and I didn’t have a current replacement address which has been our chief way of communicating. I tried calling but I kept getting a message that her voice box had not been set up and my text messages went unanswered. I’d even googled for her and her husband for obituaries that I gratefully I didn’t find.

For our entire adult lives Nancy and I touched bases every four to six weeks but I’d always get a sense when something was going on in her life and sure enough, we both have the same thoughts in the same time frame. Back when we did snail mail our letters often crossed at the post office. Explanations for Nancy’s missing Christmas card turned out better than for Dianna’s. This past week we finally were able to communicate after her husband contacted me with a new email address. They’d both had health issues over the holidays that included a hospitalization and they were just now getting back to normal. 

I’ve only had two blood-brothers-close friends in my life: Nancy and Don. Sometimes I think my lack of close friends has been because I haven’t been as good of a friend as others have been to me. I’ve never been that person, for example, who brings a picnic basket to the hospital. Other times I know it’s normal to have just a couple of people in a lifetime who you’re willing to bare your soul to, who you know will love you and you them no matter what. Or like the young people say today, a friend who if you asked them to help you bury a body would bring a shovel and not ask questions. (Nancy, if you're reading please note that the last sentence is a euphemism. Unless it's a small animal's body I won't literally help you bury a body. I will, however help you go to the police to confess a murder and empty out my bank account to get you a good lawyer.)

Back on topic: What do you do when good people die during a pandemic? The last time that happened in my family they had the funeral virtually. It was strange and cold and the equipment they live-streamed it on was so poor that it was impossible to view without feeling like a voyeur watching something on a hidden camera that I wasn’t meant to see. Who would have ever guessed a pandemic would have us wishing we could go to memorial services to dispense hugs and kind words! No matter what Dianna's daughters and husband plan, I’ll do what I always do and that’s to write…the personalized sympathy cards, the Facebook messages…and this blog post. She was such a good person and she will be missed.   

I just got word that my husband's second oldest brother also died this week. I'll be writing a lot of those cards and messages in the coming days....©