Death and Sadness Are a Part of Life

For the last 13 months, we have lived with the knowledge that Gerald’s brother Ken had leukemia and would not be expected to live as long as we had previously taken for granted. Their dad lived a long life; and at 75, Ken was working every day and was extremely strong, in spite of suffering from arthritis that no longer allowed him to coon hunt or play softball. Many years ago he had had heart surgery, but you would have never known it.

Doctors advised that chemo would be difficult and might not be worth it at his age--if he even lived through it. Ken and his family took the challenge and went through rounds of treatment first at Barnes and then at John Cochran V.A. He went into remission and looked good and was back on his bulldozer doing work he was good at and loved. Then the leukemia returned.

Again doctors said that to try further treatment with chemo might kill him. Again Ken and his family chose to fight this disease. Just as she had during the months of previous treatments, his wife Opal stayed by his side night and day for the 44 days he underwent yet another round of treatment at John Cochran V.A. Hospital. He was hampered by a heart attack there when doctor’s orders for a transfusion were not followed promptly, but he seem to recover from that blunder rather well. Yet by Christmas Day, the family was concerned that he was not doing well. Still when his brothers went to see him that day, he assured them he had had Christmas there in the hospital room when a son-in-law read the Christmas story to him.

On January 8, he had a bone marrow test, and he and Opal were told that this final treatment had not worked. His sister made her third trip from Wyoming to visit with him. On January 10, he was told to go home and that the doctor had called in Hospice. We were all saddened at the prediction that he would not live until his 76th birthday on January 20. When he did, we all rejoiced, and a stream of people who loved him flooded their house all day long. Then he admitted that he would really like to see his expected great granddaughter. He not only lived to see Josie but to hold her and love on her many times. Again we rejoiced at this and wondered why the doctor had said this still strong man was going to die. Obviously the doctor was wrong about the expected length of time.

Adding to our illusion was a dispute between doctors when one saw the pathologist’s report and found out that person had not discovered leukemia cells. (This local oncologist said, however, that Ken that two infections that could kill him.) Nevertheless, we had an evening of hope—though a false one. The next day, the first oncologist assured the family that he himself had seen the leukemia cells and had been able to make a more accurate report than the pathologist had the tools to do. Still we had to wonder as Ken maintained life and good humor and his family fought for is recovery.

Finally the serious deterioration started. Back in the local hospital, the continued fight against the infections did no good. Ken wanted to go home, and he did. Once more people streamed into his home to show love and concern. Surrounded there in his bedroom by his wife and children, on Monday, he went into a peaceful sleep-like state. Hospice assured the family that Ken could still hear them.

If he could, he heard many vows of love and praise and appreciation. He felt loving arms and kisses. He heard prayers and favorite Bible scriptures read, which were chosen just for him. He heard his daughters singing the hymns he loved. And then after his sister called from Wyoming for a final expression of love with the phone held to his ear, he heard his wife and children's final farewells. And then he heard the angels.

Lynn Delores Dillow Borde September 26, 1933 - December 7, 2007

From the sad email from our mutual friend Lois and the sad phone call from Lynn’s son Lance, I learned that Lynn had lost her battle with what she had first written the doctor was calling pre-leukemia.

After that news, a Christmas card came from Lance and his sister Pamela “PJ” Brown. The inserted memorial sheet had five pictures of Lynn from her baby picture to an adult picture. In between was an adorable formal studio photo of a gently smiling child of around four when she was still living in New York. Then a bathing beauty photo. Next, a sophomore high school class picture that I remembered, and a young adult picture I am not sure I had ever seen. Folding the precious insert back into the card and envelope, I told myself I would have to think about it later. Yet I knew what was inside that envelope, and I could not keep from thinking about the loss of my childhood friend.

During that pre-Christmas season with Lynn’s photos hidden inside the envelope’s darkness, we already had plenty to grieve because our lives were full of sadness and pain for family members and their illnesses. I did not want to face the loss of my first writing friend and faithful and most-fun friend. Since she was in California and I stayed in Southern Illinois, she was not in my everyday life. Although we wrote long letters as young adults, those had trickled off some years to only Christmas cards. She talked of coming back for a visit in retirement, and I had looked forward to that. However, with the pre-leukemia letter, I faced the end of that plan and dream.

Lynn left SIUC the first quarter we were there to fulfill her ambition of joining the Air Force. We wrote faithfully and shared our adventures. Later she married, and she and her husband came back on G.I. bills and were in the area briefly before returning to California.

There they remained although there was one brief summer trip back here in the 1960s. We both had young families. I remember I had laryngitis and could not really talk, which I considered a terrible irony since all Lynn and I ever wanted to do was talk--for hours on her front porch in Jonesboro where she lived with her grandparents and where we grew up, for hours when we took a walk from her house to and through the nearby Jonesboro cemetery and giggled as young people can when death is far away. For hours on the telephone as teens talking about cute boys and what to wear to the basketball games in the A-J gym. For hours as we read to each other from our journals when she was Lyndee and I was Suzie. We spent summer evenings at the ballpark and in the Tropics, our teenage hangout. We could make a nickel coke last all night.

After that 1960s visit at our ancient farm house plagued by laryngitis and busy with the care of our little ones, we did not see each other again until 2001 when we went to California to see our granddaughter Tara play softball and stayed at Lois and Tom’s house in Oakland. We arranged a visit with Lynn in her Concord apartment and met her cats that she loved, and we all went out to dinner together.

This week I opened the haunting envelope again. I have kept her photos on my desk and allowed myself to know I won’t see her again during this life. I signed a sympathy letter to Lance and Pam and included the name Suzie. I won't ever sign my name that way again.

College Station, Texas

We’ve just returned from our Texas trip. We ate waffles in the shape of the state of Texas for breakfast at our motel, and we heard lots of football talk wherever we went. The weather was wonderful all week, and the many fluffy white clouds in the huge sky were magnificent.

We got off to a slow start from Illinois as someone ran into the back door of our car in the Kroger parking lot as Gerald was headed to the car wash after having the car serviced for the trip. The same replaced door that a pickup had jumped a curb and crushed while I was inside the mall last year was now banged up again!

Thus, we started a little later than planned and a little less calmly. Somewhere down in Arkansas, we got a warning light that a tire was low. A state policeman at the park where we’d stopped to check it recommended a place ahead. A couple of hours later we were back on the road with the tire aired up--but the tire people could not find a leak. Recently we had a tire that had to be replaced despite the fact that two local tire services could not find the tiny leak near the valve that our son-in-law finally located. So we left not feeling too comfortable about the tire. However, we were blessed with nary another trouble with that tire, so evidently the crash on the door had somehow caused that back tire to lose air.

We arrived at College Station the next day in plenty of time to find our motel and the stadium. We were there to see our granddaughter Erin catch that afternoon in two softball games against Navarro Community College. Wearing our hats to keep off the sun, we discovered a roofed stadium, which not only kept off the sun but protected us during the hard rain that fell before the game. Our worry that the games might be rained out was needless as all the brief rain did was cool the air and create a delightful temperature with a lovely breeze. Vickie and Geri Ann, Erin’s mother and sister, had also arrived; and after the games, all of us feasted at the deep-fried chicken dinner that Erin’s friend Matt had prepared for us at the house where Erin and two other softball players live with a fourth college student, whose parents had bought the house for her.

That night we fell instantly asleep and woke early enough the next morning for a leisurely breakfast and then a visit to the George Bush Memorial Library on the Texas A&M campus. Unfortunately, it was being renovated, but we saw the movie, some displays, and the miniature White House replica that has traveled throughout the country. Nearby was a small lake with many flowers and a rose garden, where the butterflies flitted everywhere. We kept walking back into the woods where George and Barbara Bush will someday be buried by their daughter Robin.

Meeting everyone for lunch, we ate Chinese and then had time to go back to the motel to rest up and prepare for the next two games against Blinn Community College, which had a very good team with four good pitchers and a coach with a fine reputation. Again we won both games and thoroughly enjoyed seeing Erin and teammates play and met a few more parents. After a late dinner with our party and sad farewell hugs, we fell into bed and another deep sleep in order to prepare for the next segment of our Texas adventure.

Summer Good-byes

Summer Good-byes

For breakfast, I met my friend Deb Tucker at the new KB Barbecue (which us old timers will probably still be calling Pulleys for the next ten years). Deb and husband are leaving by train to go the beautiful scenic route from Chicago to the state of Washington to visit his mother. Deb and I needed to have a final visit since it will be a few weeks before our schedules allow another get together.

Tonight Gerald and I took granddaughter Erin out to supper before she leaves in the morning for the 766-mile trip to Texas A & M at College Station. Since it was her farewell meal, we let her choose the restaurant, and she chose Benny‘s. It seems only yesterday we were there welcoming her home from college. It has been so nice having her around this summer. We are going to miss her.

She was on her way to another friend’s house after our supper to say goodbye and celebrate the friend’s birthday a day early. We went on to to Katherine and Dave’s house as Gerald had made copies of a photograph of all ten cousins taken up at Jeannie’s house last November. Tara had given us the photo in a special frame for Christmas, and Erin requested a copy, so Gerald made Katherine one too.

Summer brings opportunities for visits with friends and loved ones, but they must end with goodbyes. I have always realized that one reason I write is in rebellion against the transiency of life. I want to capture and hold the moments and make them permanent--without goodbyes. Gerald’s photographs do the same for us. We can hold the precious moments in our hands and see it all again.