The last testament.
A stream of conscious babble of things still ever present on
my mind. A testament to the woman that
was, a testament to the woman whose reach is farther than her earthly life.
With thanks for her, with thanks for my family, my children,
their spouses and the all the friends who have reached out to us over the last
days.
In my eulogy to Marty I talked about her role as an educator,
before and after the strokes. So much of
what I know, so much of what I am comes from Marty. We got married at 21….really pretty young…..and
I was still growing up so Marty, in essence picked up where Bettye and Larry
left off and she raised me too.
Marty taught me, or at least tried to teach me to live in
the moment. As is apparent, that is
easier said than done and even when you think you have learned the lesson….nope,
not really, it’s a struggle.
Marty taught me that we, as human beings, can adapt to
almost anything. I thought there is no
way I could care for anyone, much less, my wife, who was supposed to be caring
for me. I was wrong. I learned, I adapted, I figured stuff out, so
can you.
We will all be cared for or will care for someone in our
lives. It is inevitable. In our culture, our world, we have made
remarkable strides in prolonging life, consequently, more and more of us will
need someone to take care of us as we get sick or just get old. Just know, it’s going to happen to you and
when it does, see the previous paragraph
.
Tell people you love them; we all need to hear it. Tell people why you love them, we all need to
know it. Write a note, touch a shoulder,
make a phone call, go see someone, just make sure the people you love and care
about know it and know why. Marty knew
she was loved, she knew who loved her, she knew the lives she had touched, she
was lucky in that.
The last years have been a rather remarkable journey marked
by fear, sadness, amazing joy, peace and contentment. We have seen our baby get married, our babies
have babies, six of them, big birthdays, big anniversaries, funerals, and just
normal everyday life. While I would not
have chosen the path Marty and I walked it has been one of the most amazing, rewarding
and decent trips I’ve ever made.
There have been remarkable people come into our lives. We have come to know and love all the nurses
and people at Great and Wise’s office, we have come closer to our two pastors,
Leslie and Deedee as our journey wound around some thorny times. We have been blessed with some amazing “sister-wives”,
Nykkie, Erica, Renea, Renee and LaShonda who all made our lives better,
seriously, they improved a somewhat difficult life.
We could not have had better care than we did at Providence
those last days. The nurses were attentive,
knowledgeable, tender and caring. They
hugged me, they had tears of care and they touched me as I left that last day.
Providence Hospice was compassionate and amazing as we all
came to the end of our journey with Marty.
She was not afraid, she was not in pain, she managed to pass as
graciously and peacefully as one can.
The funeral, was, a funeral.
We sang, we talked, we listened.
It all seems a bit like a pagan ritual, but it provided some amazing
closure and we heard and said some stuff that needed to be heard and said to put
a period on the end of this journey.
As I walked up to the entrance of Providence Hospital that
last day, I thought we all had done the very best we could do to keep Marty
safe, to make her life meaningful and to keep her alive. I believe that.
As always, as anyone would, there are regrets, there are
thoughts and words that were left unsaid, there were emotions untapped, there
were wishes unfulfilled.
But we did the best we could, and it was pretty good.
As John Denver sang in Poems, Prayers and Promises….” I have
to say it now it’s been a good life all in all.”
Marty, I love you today as much as I did when we married. I doubt that will change.
