She's turned her back on her own funeral and the mourners gathered behind her. Her bags are packed and she's on her way. (painting sold) |
We spent
about 40 years at odds with each other.
She had a
way of saying exactly what she was thinking which probably made her the
effective high school teacher that she was, but not so successful at some social/family
interaction which is often based on subtleties.
Being subtle wasn't her strong suit.
So when she
first got sick I went to see her more out of a sense of duty than anything
else.
She was
very upset - the only time I saw her like that. The next time I went she was better, her husband was back and she was settled into a routine. At the time they were thinking there was
a hospital in Hamilton that could help her.
I went to
see her every few weeks and we talked of so many things, her grandchildren, my
recovery from cancer, our younger years,
how she so enjoyed it when her brother took her outside to feel the sun on her
face, how delicious a meal from McDonald's tasted after hospital food when her husband brought it in. We laughed about Donald Trump - she was very interested in
everything.
Unfortunately
every time I visited another door was closing for her. Hamilton couldn't help
her, stem cell research was not possible, etc.
But never
once did she exhibit any signs of distress or depression. When I told her I thought she was a hero the
way she was handling everything she struggled to turn her head looked right at
me and said, "Francie, I'm no hero."
But she
was.
And she
possessed an inner strength that I can only marvel at.
She died the way and at the time she chose to die.
I will miss
her.