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....©

Baby it’s Cold Outside…and Everywhere Else!

I’m always cold except for maybe between July 1^st and the middle of August. This morning I woke up to sub-zero temperatures that have only climbed to minus five in the two hours I’ve been sucking up coffee and zipping around the internet. I have my fingerless gloves on with L.L. Bean hand warmers tucked inside. My house is making noises I don’t usually hear and I don’t blame it. The furnace can’t keep up, but I never touch my thermostat; it stays at 70 but I’ve been known to wear as many as four layers of clothing including silk long-underwear. I did find a place, last week, where I was as warm as I wanted to be. I have a niece-in-law with MS who lives in an assisted living facility who I went to visit on her 51th birthday. I was there an hour and a half and left because I was afraid if I got any more comfortable, I’d want to book a room and stay until spring.

Before her mother passed away, this niece and her mother lived in the same facility for a short time and my sister-in-law had a black roommate. One day her other daughter came rushing into her sister’s room and said, “You’ve got to talk to Mom! She’s calling her roommate her ‘chocolate chip cookie.’” “Don’t worry about it,” came the reply, “her roommate calls Mom her ‘white cupcake’---they’re friends.” I miss my sister-in-law. She was such a dingbat. In the fifty plus years that I knew her she was always saying outrageous things and starting fights among her kids. She could leave me laughing, she could leave me speechless or shaking my head at her wacky way of looking at life but she was never boring. Her pet name for me was “Mother Theresa” because, she said, I always took the high road. I had to around her. She was such a prolific gossip that I knew my every word would get repeated to someone if I didn’t. It’s funny what we remember the most about others who’ve passed on. I remember her for her great cooking and how much it delighted her that I never shined in that department, but for some reason I keep forgetting that she also took in kids and babies that social services had to place in a hurry, sometimes in the middle of the night---26 or 27 cases---while she was raising her own five. It’s important to balance the good in a person when saying anything negative.

Writing that last line reminded of a movie quote from New Year’s Eve, it’s one of my favorite quotes and favorite films. “Sometimes it feels like there are so many things in this world we can't control. Earthquakes, floods, reality shows... But it's important to remember the things that we can. Like forgiveness, second chances, fresh starts... Because the one thing that turns the world from the longing place to a beautiful place... is love. Love and any of its forms. Love gives us hope...” As exasperating as my sister-in-law could be at times with her gossiping and stirring the pot, she never let an opportunity go by without delivering warm meals or groceries to the door of anyone in need. It was also rare to see her without a crochet project in her hands. She made baby layettes for friends, family, acquaintances, several charities and her church's craft sales.

Last Monday was supposed to be one of my Gathering Girls bi-monthly, standing brunch dates but we canceled it because the weather was predicted to be way too cold for man or beast to be outside. The ice we got earlier didn’t have a chance to melt and is still under a layer of snow. Between lung issues and fragile bones it was prudent to cancel, but that doesn’t mean I had to like it. I haven’t been any place in what feels like a month of Mondays. The only voices I hear are coming from the TV and---surprise, surprise---I’ve even been waiting until noon to turn it on. A couple of times I’ve tried singing or talking out loud just to make sure I could still do it, but the dog gets upset and/or confused. He rules my life, so I shut back up.

So what have I been doing to keep my brains from setting up like lime Jell-O?  January has turned me into a regular little Susie Homemaker. I’ve been deep cleaning closets, cabinets and chest-of-drawers in my master bedroom suite. After my cleaner comes on her first Friday of the month, I’m calling a couple of painters to get estimates on step one in my redecorating project. I’ve also spent some time working on a portrait, baking scones, making soup and shredding papers. I hate that latter job, but tax time is coming to America…assuming we’ll still have a country by April 15^th to pay my fair share towards the costs of running it. And that last thought explains why this news junkie has been taking a respite from consuming any more than two hours of news updates a day. My news respites in the Era of Trump never lasts longer than a few weeks before something sucks me back in. ©

Sundays, Passwords and Passings

My Sunday routine has been in place for a boring long time. In the morning I’m consumed with CNN News shows on TV while drinking coffee, reading the newspaper, having a protein shake breakfast and scanning the computer for interesting things. In between noon and 9:00 PM (when Madame Secretary comes on TV) I do a flurry of activities in no particular order that includes: 1) checking the basement for signs of mice, water where it doesn’t belong and skinny men who might be hiding behind the furnace; 2) picking up dog poop in the dog’s pen; 3) emptying all the waste baskets; 4) taking the trash cart to the street for pick up on Monday morning; 5) doing three/four loads of laundry; 6) picking wayward items up in the house and putting them where they belong; and 7) planning my days out for the coming week. If I’ve got a particularly busy week ahead, I’ll also line up the clothes I’m going to wear in the order I’m going to wear them so I don't have to waste time making decisions in the mornings.

This week I went to a class taught by two geeks from the library on how to manage passwords and create safe ones. It was a group class at the senior hall but the most useful thing I learned is that you can book a free half hour with a geek at the library on any topic or problem you’re having with any device you can bring in---laptops, cell phones, tablets, iPads, iPods or Kindle-like readers. They showed us how to use password managers and I decided I don’t like them. In fact, all of those sitting close by me agreed that keeping a physical notebook makes us feel safer than having our information hackable in a cloud or stuck in a crashed computer. Call us old and set in our ways because we are. The geeks did say if we’re going to do that don’t keep the notebook within arm’s reach of your computer and whatever you do don’t keep a note with your important passwords underneath your keyboard. Duh, The way the geeks suggested we make up good passwords was to use a sentence we can remember like, “The cow jumped over the moon” then just use the first or second letters of each word and add characters or numbers in between the letters. For example the cow sentence (tcjotm) becomes T1c2j3o4t5M and they recommend we change our passwords every two months. Like that’s going to happen in Old People Land.

One of my sister-in-law’s on my husband’s side passed away this week. She was ten years older than me and lived in a nursing home for the past 5-6 months, but before that she lived close by and I’d stop to see her a couple of times a month. She made me laugh and was a constant source of family gossip thus you had to be careful what you told her unless you wanted your business known to one and all. Still, of all my in-laws she was the one I was the closest with and she thought I hung the moon. From day one she accepted me as a sister/friend and for four decades we were included in every single family gathering she had at their house and cottage. In her heydays she fostered over thirty children. Babies were tucked into every corner of their house along with her own five children. Over the years she didn’t take very good care of her health but she never lost her love of cooking. If she wasn't feeding you she was sending you home with a box of leftovers when you'd leave. When I had my knee replaced in 2009 she kept Don and I well fed for over a week---every day driving over with more food than we could eat. Her big heart and her polish kielbasa will be missed.

If we are lucky enough to live a long life we’re also unlucky enough to watch many of our family and friends pass on to where ever we want to believe they go. We’re barely into March and already I’ve lost three this year. Although not all losses are as dramatic as losing a spouse, every person we lose leaves their mark on the world; with most, we savor the good memories and let any bad ones fad into oblivion. But I’ll bet most of us wish we had taken the time to thank those who’ve gone before us, to tell them how much we appreciate how they’ve enriched our lives. Lately, as one-by-one I say good-bye to yet another person who passes over, there's a haunting voice in my head asking, How will I be remembered when my time comes? Have I done enough, cared enough, given enough, loved enough…the unanswered questions are unrelenting. ©

“I am always saddened by the death of a good person. 
It is from this sadness that a feeling of gratitude emerges. 
I feel honored to have known them and blessed that

 their passing serves as a reminder to me
 that my time on this beautiful earth is limited 

and that I should seize the opportunity I have to forgive, share, explore, and love. 

I can think of no greater way to honor the deceased than to live this way.” 

Steve Maraboli