Note – This post is a memorial to a faculty member at a Southwest Missouri Catholic High School. I was a new faculty member four years ago. After a bit of a bumpy start she became my mentor and my protector, not a bad thing to have when you’re the new kid on the block. As she said it, “we are a team.” This past November she was diagnosed with terminal liver cancer. Her final journey was short. Her family requested total privacy. This is an accounting, taken from my journal, of how we said “good-by.”
16 November, 2009
Just before lunch, SHE asked me to watch her 7th hour class. SHE said her husband called and said the doctor called and needed to see them both this afternoon. This does not sound good, but it's like my doctor says, “I always see the glass as half empty.” Not really, but I worry about Sandy. I know that the wait is probably killing her. Maybe she will at least find out what is wrong.
17 November, 2009
Today is a dark day for me. I'm numb and my processing skills depleted. I've worried plenty about HER, but as it was with my mother, I was confident that whatever was wrong they could fix it.. But like my mother I was wrong. Doctors have spent all of this time focused on her heart and in the end; it is her liver that is causing her to waste away. The diagnosis, inoperable liver cancer, the condition was untreatable and terminal. I look at her frail figure, wasting away more each day. It has no doubt been horrible, but not as horrible as the judgment that was pronounced yesterday. With that brief announcement, SHE also informs us that SHE is leaving at the semester. I noticed that the office ladies were both on the verge of a breakdown when I arrived at school, and I also noticed that the principal was in her room when I arrived. I felt bad vibrations when I came through the door. And now SHE says she wants no one to know. SHE wants no fanfare or special treatment or pity. I explained that that is the only way some people have of dealing with this kind of situation, and that trying to face this alone, will make things really hard. People are put on the earth to help people. That's what they are for. Being normal, treating this as if nothing is happening is going to be really hard. I know this is a real downer but I realize SHE was like a mother figure to me. She was just starting to open up and share. I now know that our time together is going to be much to short. If SHE refuses treatment it could be real short. I will pray for guidance. There is a mission for us all in this situation. We'll pray for guidance and strength for HER, her family and for each and every one of us. I feel we are past time for the prayer for healing, and approaching the prayer for God's will and our acceptance. That does not rule out recovery or a long productive final chapter. It could also be a quick finish, or a long road of suffering for HER and all who care. We all pray for HER quality of life regardless of how long or short it may be.
I had lunch with office ladies while our principal tried desperately to get HER to go home. Her husband wanted HER home now. He said that the cancer was everywhere and HER days were numbered. HER walk may be over as soon as Thanksgiving and he seems to thank that Christmas is a long shot. He wants HER home for every last minute. This diagnosis is in a sense out no where. SHE noticed an irregular lump and went to have it checked. They found a growth attached to the liver, but further testing found cancer cells in many spots in the body. It was not been imagination HER skin color was bad. The liver failure had caused her to be jaundice. The assault on the liver drained every ounce of energy SHE could muster.
So that’s the way it is. Not pretty. Not Happy. Just the way it IS. It's like the principal said, "For now, the only thing that matters, the only thing that is important right now is that lady up stairs."
18 November, 2009
Things at school are still foggy. Today things are improving. The substitute is with her when I arrive. They spend a lot of time together. When I go over she gives me some candles for Vicki. She assures me that things are alright for my surgery. She made arrangements with the substitute regarding my surgery. She talks with one teacher now. I hope she tells the remainder of the staff before the day is over. As much as I don't want to give her up, her husband needs her more and they need to be with each other. .
19 November, 2009
The sun is shining and the secret is out. While a cloud still hangs over the building, God reminds us of the beauty of the earth, the same beautiful earth that SHE is apart of. There are things to report from yesterday but I will begin with the here and now. The principal announces to the students that SHE will be leaving the school for medical reasons. While he reports that she has serious health problem he stops short of finishing the story. He tells the whole story to the teachers. It's hard to tell how the students are taking it and many are gone for various reasons. The teachers take it hard. It's funny. She was very quiet about it, but every teacher I talk with today had spoke to Sandy and they are all honored that she shared with them. She made sure we wouldn't discuss it by telling us not to share with others. She wanted to tell those who needed to know on her terms and that is how it should be.. I'll be sharing her students through tomorrow the replacement will begin on Monday. I hope that she lets those who truly care participate in the pain of her ordeal by expressing their feelings to her and that she does not choose to do this alone. God made us a people who care for each other.
Yesterday was harder than Tuesday. She sat at her desk, pretty much just setting. She had teachers in and out of the room, each leaving with sad, sober, sorry look, letting the world know that their system had been shocked. As the day closed, I joined the office staff in telling her good-by. When I assured her that we would be thinking about her, her reply was, "You won't have to worry long, I'm going fast," repeating, "going fast.” One of the ladies rode the elevator down with her and on the elevator SHE told her that she was failing fast. Her skin was chalky grey, and her form, that of a frail old lady. She is indeed failing fast. I hate it when people refer to a person's condition as "giving up," when truly the person is not giving up, when in most cases they are packing up, and while they have much to look forward to, the sorrow they feel is in leaving loved ones early; loved ones who are clinging to fragments of a life fully lived, hopeful of just one more memory.
20 November, 2009
The cloudy, drizzly weather has returned and the reality of HER absence is beginning to soak in. It will not be fully felt until next week when the full student body returns and someone else take over her room. She was such a possessive individual, yet she walked out on her last day with only a small box of things she claimed as hers. The room looks exactly as it did, but it is dark, chairs on the tables; reminders of a closure of sorts.
As I was leaving the nature center last evening following a meeting, a bobcat crossed my path. A bobcat sighting is rare, but they are known to exist in the park area. In Native American lore, the totem of the bobcat embodies the spirit of the life we are losing. Her spirit is being released back to the creator who will reveal her future.
Just setting next to the empty dark room makes me know that every minute more and more of her spirit is vanishing and we all know that with most things that are human, all remnant of the past will disappear and we will begin work to establish a new normal. Today, I really missed HER company
30 November, 2009
I understand that SHE had surgery on Thanksgiving Day to help control the pain and that SHE is still in ICU. It has been four days. She may not make it back home. I guess you have to try to recapture the possibility for life, but I'm sure this has been really rough on her and it could be fatal. .
1 December, 2009
Welcome to December. An announcement reminds us that basketball season starts today. The weather today will be unseasonable warm, but traditional weather should prevail tonight and into the week, maybe even snow tomorrow. We are reminded that we are in the season of advent. The missing advent wreath in the lobby, and the Christmas wreaths that traditionally spruce up the classroom doors, are missing; a subtle reminder of HER. Each year she provided holiday wreathes and greenery for the classrooms, and a giant advent wreath for the lobby.
I as well as most of the staff here have things we are thinking and would like to say about HER. The fact that she is still alive is a testimony to her willingness to allow us to adapt to the sudden change and is allowing us time to accept it. The time is coming, and when it does, we will be able to deal with it as we should. I wonder about her progress on her final journey. Has she been treated to the good life, hopefully so? The letting go for her will be a difficult task as it is hard to break our earthy bonds, but once you fully accept the eternal offer, its difficult to turn it down.
This hasn't been the kind of semester you would imagine as it began with a trip of a life time cruise to Alaska. While that was great, it will never register as the most important development of the semester. Too much has happened since I returned. My scare with heart disease knocked the travel extravaganza out of the water. And then there is the eye site problem and the fact that I am slowly losing my vision. Because of the age we live in, it can be fixed as most things can. Then there is the knee repair that I look forward to on Monday, another one of those things that can be fixed. Pretty tough days, but the most important development of this semester is the loss of HER. Her diagnosis with liver cancer and her immediate resignation will not only change my life but the lives of many, many young people and this cannot be fixed. One of the medical mysteries that still carries a terminal diagnosis. So her full productive life will end for us prematurely with an explanation point. Then life will go on.
13 December, 2009
As far as I know SHE is still in the fog. Last I heard was she was holding on in ICU weighing the imperfections that tie her to this sinful world, against a peaceful guarantee of eternity. Knowing her, she is probably arguing with St. Peter about her placement in line, insisting that there are many if not all who should claim their place ahead of her. The, one size fits all, concept is probably hard for her to accept, but she will get there eventually.
24 December, 2009 – Christmas Eve
Today is Christmas Eve. It is unseasonable warm, but blizzard like conditions are forecast for Christmas Day. I hope we are able to make it to Christmas Eve services.
Yesterday was our anniversary. Despite my recovery from surgery, we went out for lunch and did some last minute Christmas shopping. This was an anniversary tradition. We finished shopping early and returned to spend the evening at home. When the phone rang I knew her time had come. The principal called to tell me that she had passed around 7:30. That was just about the time we said our wedding vows, 38 years ago. The news was shocking at first but not surprising. It was expected and was something that I had been preparing for. Tears stained my face, but I realized that her journey was over, and on our special day. I will always remember this special day in her life. Sleep did not come easy last night. I was tossing and turning, and finally got up and went to the living room and sit in front of the Christmas tree. During the time just before Christmas we leave the tree lit all night, so it was a beautiful and peaceful place to pray and say my final farewell. It was only after my wife held me close did I realized peace and sleep followed
Some Final Thought on My Colleague
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The last time I saw her she struggled to walk to the door. She carried one small box with those possessions she wanted to take with her. We later found that one of those artifacts was her stapler. . . Go figure. She wore her long winter coat all day. . Her skin was chalky and pale, her voice quiet yet definitive. She set at her desk in her office chair all day. She didn't leave the room for anything. We found out later that she hadn't been able to eat. She lost 100 pounds in the last year. Now, she was confused and didn't know what she really wanted. The diagnosis was too new. It was so final. What choices did she have? As she shuffled out of her room toward the elevator she assured me that I needn't worry for her as she was going fast. She was not going to suffer like the former counselor did. With those words her frail, failing body disappeared behind the elevator door and she was gone.
What's missing? Way more than you would expect. SHE represented the past, a generation of caring, hoping, thinking and dreaming. She was from a time when man did as much as possible to control his destiny. She was a champion for the underdog. Missing is that person who would stay after and visit about what was troubling to you. She was an ear to listen, and a shoulder to lean on. Missing is that stern but kind personality who welcomed students to detention or Saturday school. She accepted those students, unconditionally. Detention or Saturday school was not a debatable issue with her; she was simply the vehicle to carry out the consequence. Missing, a prom sponsor, a yearbook sponsor, a newsletter editor, and the list goes on and on. She was a perfectionist and everything had to be done right. That was just part of her character. Her full productive life ended with an explanation point, and now all of that is gone. Life goes on. I will always remember her and memorialize her.
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