Monday, 23 June 2008

• A tale of two women

  In the last few weeks, two very important and influential women in my life passed away. Each death has been very difficult and painful, though they were at opposite ends of the spectrum from one another in their own lives.
  
  My aunt Kathy passed away first. At only 52 years old, she was the picture of energy and health, save for some high blood pressure that was under control with medication. Imagine an attractive woman with an easy and engaging smile, who lived to serve others. She raised 4 wonderful children who all call her their best friend, and was a loving and devoted wife, still very much in love with her husband after 32 years of marriage. She had 4 grandchildren whom she doted on and loved and cherished. She worked as a nurse in a nursing home for many many years, always with a smile, and had a special calming effect on all she encountered. She was never concerned with the outward appearance of things. When visiting her, she would not ever apologize for the condition of her home, she would just move a laundry pile or mess over, and offer you a seat, along with food that she just seemed to produce out of nowhere, and was always delicious. She looked for the redeeming qualities in everyone and would always seem to seek out the person in a crowd that looked uncomfortable, and in no time would make them feel welcome. She was full of compassion, and has been an irreplaceable, wonderful role model to me. Then, about 2 weeks ago, a blood vessel burst deep in her brain, causing a stroke, with nothing that could have been done to save her.
  
  Kathy’s funeral was a testimony to the fruits of her nurturing. There was a public visitation the night before, and the funeral itself was standing room only. The whole church, balcony included, had every seat taken. Guests lined the stairs going into the church and stayed standing the entire time once the church was full, and just listened to the ceremony even though they could not see in. The whole community feels this loss. She was buried in a plot that will eventually house her whole family, and there will be a headstone to memorialize her.
  
  Two days after we buried my aunt Kathy, my own mom passed away. In contrast to my aunt, Mom had been sick, on hospice, for nearly 3 years. She was a fighter who lived a lifetime of drama and worldliness. My brother summed it up kindly when he wrote “My mom’s way was to always swim against the current. In order to have any sort of relationship with her, whether by birth or by choice, meant you needed to be willing to get into rough water with her.” She was incredibly beautiful, and saucy, and spicy, and hard to keep up with. She was never the same person twice. Hers was a life pockmarked with addictions, and episodes of mental illnesses, ranging from bipolar, to depression, anxiety, phobias, and insecurities, and ultimately she ended up in a nursing home, at only age 65, dying of COPD.
  
  Because of the toxic effect she had on others, most people, including friends and family, throughout her life ended up needing to set boundaries with her, and most had long ago discontinued any sort of relationship with her. My siblings saw her once or twice a year, on Christmas or Mother’s Day. Boundaries are difficult for me to establish and I continued my relationship with her. I'm soft that way. I did not want her to be alone, especially during this part of her life. A person is not typically put on hospice unless it is expected that they will pass away within 6 months. That did not end up being the case with my mom. For the last 3 years, I’d been visiting her on average of 1, 2 or more times a week, sitting with her, bringing her what she needed, transporting her, coordinating her health care, dealing with her bill collectors. I called her each day I was not there in person. She’d been sick for so long that it really came as a shock when I received the phone call from the nurse telling me of her passing. What? How could that be? Are you sure? How? Check again!! Damn! DAMN!!! I wasn’t there! I didn’t want her to go alone! I was supposed to be there! Wait! This can’t be! Our last conversation was a petty argument the day before! Stop! I need to make it right!
  
  Her funeral was very different from my aunts. She had requested to be cremated, and we honored her wishes. We held a public service in the chapel at her nursing home. There were less than 40 people there, with many of them being nursing home staff and residents, and our family. Her siblings did not attend. There will not be a burial. We had her remains divided into 6 urns, one for my dad, and one for each of her children. We will each do what our hearts dictate, as her relationship with each of us was very different from the next. For myself, I was lucky enough to have been able to spend a significant amount of time with her when she was sick. She had expressed to me on more than one occasion that she ‘always wanted to be a Californian, like her siblings were’. She thought she would have made a great actress. When I am ready, I am going to take a trip by myself, and maybe leave some traces of her in various spots around California. The hills above Hollywood would be appropriate for her. The ocean. The mountains. She’d have loved that she could be in more than one place at a time.
  
  Two women, two influential people in my life. I loved them both.
  
  

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