![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
Back safe --
I got a call or two that indicated there was concern that 1MinnesotaGirl and I had vanished off the face of the earth. Not to worry -- we have made it back, part of our list accomplished, and now are frantically dealing with the fallout of 10 days gone without web access (basically, when we reached a hotel with wireless, we were too whipped to post. And the computers were kept in the bedroom of our hosts, which made a quick email check awkward -- at least for us!)
Yes, I wrote. More today, I hope.
Saturday was the funeral celebration for Sue, 1MinnesotaGirl's mother. She was 91, and looked 70s-ish. She was sharp, strong, and busy for the 36 years she stayed while her husband had gone ahead. She was a reporter when women didn't do much outside the house. She was mother to two daughters -- and to a stepdaughter she didn't meet until the girl was 18 and married -- and then became a professional volunteer, the type that kept our nationwide organizations strong. She was a devout Methodist and served her local and national church on many levels.
Sue also was a quilter, a pilot, a writer (with a finished manuscript buried in the house and on her computer. I got to read the prologue, and it was good.) She built and designed furniture and small items, with a table saw she wasn't afraid to use, and loved her garden and her trees. She slowed down a bit, that last spring and summer, and then they told her there was fluid in her lung, and they didn't know why. She did not speak of it, but she knew that was usually a sign of cancer somewhere in her body -- she'd watched her husband die slowly of cancer, and she wasn't going to do that to herself or her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. She asked for anti-anxiety drugs and painkillers, in case she needed them, and did not ask to have her lungs drained again. A hospice nurse checked on her every few days, as did her children.
Finally, she was too tired to think, or to play cards with her daughters. She died within 4 days, at home, sleeping three of those days. She died as she lived, neatly, placid as sunlight on water -- until you looked in her eyes, and knew that at least three, if not more, Sues lived within, whether Vava, her real name until a boss told her "That's too hard to pronounce", to the polite woman taking French lessons and playing cards regularly, the woman who made all her own clothes. The woman who did not cook well because it didn't interest her -- but she appreciated someone else's good cooking.
The woman who did not tell her friends at church how sick she was, not wanting them to worry.
The woman who told her daughter last summer, when we weren't sure she would last until 1MG came south in the fall: "Everyone dies." And she said it with a sweet smile.
Here's a story 1MG told me about her mother, and I think it explains a lot about Sue. Sue and her husband E moved to Ohio after a life spent on the move, because E was a trainer of sorts, and moved after he'd gotten a batch of people up to steam. After some good years there, they were examining a retirement community, and had already put down the money to get their slot, and have a trust that the community got to keep after they were gone. All they were waiting for was a suite to "open up" for them. Then E because ill with cancer, and was dead within a few months. Trying to cope with her grief, Sue was going to go through with their plans...until she took a very hard look at the assisted living facility.
She still had dark hair -- she was only 55 -- and the people on the floor she would live on were not only frail, they needed a lot of quiet, and they weren't getting out even to buy groceries. They talked only of illness, theirs and others -- they had no new experiences to share. Sue had a year to change her mind and get her money back. A few more questions, and she was sure she wasn't staying. You see, the complex had a nice shop with woodworking tools, one of her passions.
And the men would not let her play with any of the toys. So Sue kept her own toys, and lived another 20 years in Ohio, a credit to her community, before moving to Texas to be near her daughter and sister. Eventually 1MG came, too, and that's why I met Sue.
I didn't know her nearly long enough, but I suspect we knew each other in a previous life. It didn't take us long to become friends. I was supposed to keep an eye on her that summer, when her daughters were away from Texas. In truth, she did not need taking care of -- but she was happy to have a new friend. And she taught me much about living and dying with grace.
I suspect I will miss her until I die. But I am grateful for the time we had.
Yes, I wrote. More today, I hope.
Saturday was the funeral celebration for Sue, 1MinnesotaGirl's mother. She was 91, and looked 70s-ish. She was sharp, strong, and busy for the 36 years she stayed while her husband had gone ahead. She was a reporter when women didn't do much outside the house. She was mother to two daughters -- and to a stepdaughter she didn't meet until the girl was 18 and married -- and then became a professional volunteer, the type that kept our nationwide organizations strong. She was a devout Methodist and served her local and national church on many levels.
Sue also was a quilter, a pilot, a writer (with a finished manuscript buried in the house and on her computer. I got to read the prologue, and it was good.) She built and designed furniture and small items, with a table saw she wasn't afraid to use, and loved her garden and her trees. She slowed down a bit, that last spring and summer, and then they told her there was fluid in her lung, and they didn't know why. She did not speak of it, but she knew that was usually a sign of cancer somewhere in her body -- she'd watched her husband die slowly of cancer, and she wasn't going to do that to herself or her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. She asked for anti-anxiety drugs and painkillers, in case she needed them, and did not ask to have her lungs drained again. A hospice nurse checked on her every few days, as did her children.
Finally, she was too tired to think, or to play cards with her daughters. She died within 4 days, at home, sleeping three of those days. She died as she lived, neatly, placid as sunlight on water -- until you looked in her eyes, and knew that at least three, if not more, Sues lived within, whether Vava, her real name until a boss told her "That's too hard to pronounce", to the polite woman taking French lessons and playing cards regularly, the woman who made all her own clothes. The woman who did not cook well because it didn't interest her -- but she appreciated someone else's good cooking.
The woman who did not tell her friends at church how sick she was, not wanting them to worry.
The woman who told her daughter last summer, when we weren't sure she would last until 1MG came south in the fall: "Everyone dies." And she said it with a sweet smile.
Here's a story 1MG told me about her mother, and I think it explains a lot about Sue. Sue and her husband E moved to Ohio after a life spent on the move, because E was a trainer of sorts, and moved after he'd gotten a batch of people up to steam. After some good years there, they were examining a retirement community, and had already put down the money to get their slot, and have a trust that the community got to keep after they were gone. All they were waiting for was a suite to "open up" for them. Then E because ill with cancer, and was dead within a few months. Trying to cope with her grief, Sue was going to go through with their plans...until she took a very hard look at the assisted living facility.
She still had dark hair -- she was only 55 -- and the people on the floor she would live on were not only frail, they needed a lot of quiet, and they weren't getting out even to buy groceries. They talked only of illness, theirs and others -- they had no new experiences to share. Sue had a year to change her mind and get her money back. A few more questions, and she was sure she wasn't staying. You see, the complex had a nice shop with woodworking tools, one of her passions.
And the men would not let her play with any of the toys. So Sue kept her own toys, and lived another 20 years in Ohio, a credit to her community, before moving to Texas to be near her daughter and sister. Eventually 1MG came, too, and that's why I met Sue.
I didn't know her nearly long enough, but I suspect we knew each other in a previous life. It didn't take us long to become friends. I was supposed to keep an eye on her that summer, when her daughters were away from Texas. In truth, she did not need taking care of -- but she was happy to have a new friend. And she taught me much about living and dying with grace.
I suspect I will miss her until I die. But I am grateful for the time we had.
no subject
no subject
no subject