A Moment to Remember

My friends at work got together and did the most wonderful thing: they chipped in and made a donation on Mom's behalf to the Cat Adoption Team. They are making a cage plaque in her honor and it will be in display soon...I'll get pictures as soon as it is ready.

Still gathering photos and written pieces for Mom's Memorial Scrapbook, and I wanted to share the following from cousin Paul, as it has moved me to tears countless times already.

Thank you, Paul.

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If you took away the trips to Cooper Mountain when we were kids – the long Saturdays at Jeanne and Bill's spent running on forest trails and catching snakes all day, then sitting around a campfire at night watching the grown-ups play guitars and sing – I would not be who I am today. I would not have the same reservoir of gratitude for the simple things that allows me to face life’s trials with patience and understanding. In so many ways, it was a magical place and time. Only in retrospect do I really appreciate and understand how much my Aunt and Uncle had to do with it. I can see now how they never got in the way of our adventures. They made it easy. Their love and humor and steady presence as a tandem was a given. And somehow they seemed to personify the timeless, peaceful nature of that little cottage on the hilltop and the evolving A-frame house being built weekend to weekend, summer to summer, far away from what the world was becoming and now is.

To this day, I cling mightily to those memories, to the spirit of Jeanne and Bill's.

We would eagerly climb into our crusty station wagon early Saturday morning, John and I using our jackets to hide big jars with holes in the lid, anticipating the snakes we’d sneak home later in the trunk. We’d pass through the tunnel from downtown Portland towards Beaverton where the city was quickly replaced by tall trees on either side of the highway like the parting of a giant green sea, our Dad the caffeine-powered Moses leading us to the Promised Land. We’d watch the houses dissolve away into acres of country grass and blackberry bushes lining long roads with numbers in the two hundreds instead of 16th Avenue where we lived. We’d turn off the main drag and start winding up narrow two-lane roads through old-growth forest, then open fields and farms. The old graying barns were wonderful, especially the last one we’d see on our left opposite their bumpy, dirt driveway, a majestic structure in an auburn clearing which, if we were lucky, had an eagle or hawk perched at the apex.

And then, after bouncing up through the dust clouds and rows of rusting old trucks, we’d come to a gravelly stop on level ground with Jeanne and Bill and Jed standing on that little patio waving us in, the emissaries of Cooper Mountain.

I remember Jeanne's laugh and her penchant for the kind of slapstick humor that all kids love. She enjoyed having us around. She seemed to think that we were OK. And she didn't mind us running around her property like we owned the place. She would lean down to hug me and her long hair would seem to drape around me like a cocoon. She often wore thick, knitted sweaters which made her hugs even more cozy and then she’d say something funny to make me smile and send me on my way. Later on, she’d reintroduce us kids to the many cats that seemed to be everywhere because we’d forget their names – although somehow I never seemed to forget Moriarity and Blue-Cat. We never feared a reprimand from Aunt Jeanne. Her voice was soothing and playful and genuine. I can see now a similarity in all my mother’s sisters: a maternal instinct and confident resolve that wraps you up and makes you feel loved and protected. And like her husband, she possessed a quick wit that never assumed a lesser intellect from her audience. There is no better evidence to support Jeanne’s nurturing impact than her own child, Jedediah. I only wish we had grown up more together because Jed was the perfect reflection of his deeply unique parents from day one. I can’t remember him without that quirky sense of humor and appreciation for things mystical and fantastic. Jed was an only-child, relatively secluded with two very un-mainstream parents. It would be easy to think that he’d dig his heels in when four hyperactive cousins came piling out of a station wagon to run rampant all over his turf. But he never did. He was the coolest cousin in the world. And he still is.

Uncle Bill was always up to something – hammering, sawing, sketching out plans on the kitchen table with my father nodding in agreement. His tall, lanky, deceptively strong frame would fill the screened-doorway to that tiny kitchen where he’d enter from the adjacent garage through that mini-corridor with wood chips clinging to his wavy hair. His constant uniform: a dusty red and black plaid shirt tucked into faded jeans that wrinkled around his knees, then bunched up at his ankles over scuffed up work boots. His glasses would somehow come to rest at the tip of his angular nose and his breast pocket was always filled tightly with mangled notepads, pens, and for a long time, cigarettes. His weathered features and giant hands made him seem to me like a Brian Froud drawing come to life - appropriately so, given the myriad stacks of science fiction and fantasy books that seemed to emerge from every corner of that happily untidy house like ancient ruins. Years later, Uncle Bill would give me an amazing gift for Christmas which I still have and hope to display in my own home one day (when I can afford one): three framed lithographs of paintings by my favorite artist, Frank Frazetta. It was there at Jeanne and Bill’s that I first saw Frazetta’s art on the covers of Tarzan novels by Edgar Rice Burroughs which I occasionally excavated from the paperback ziggurats in that tiny living room. Initially, I would just stare at the covers but eventually Uncle Bill would tell me about not just the artists who painted the covers but about the authors who wrote the books. So as I got older I would spend less time catching snakes and more time huddling in a dusty corner reading E.R.B. or J.R.R. Tolkien or Isaac Asimov or one of the hundreds of National Geographic magazines stacked in the cramped rooms upstairs which always held the additional promise of a hidden Playboy somewhere.

Jeanne and Bill created for themselves – and were gracious enough to share with us – a mystical environment where antique wood-carved gargoyles stood watch over Heavy Metal magazines and stacks of RC Cola. They had the vision and the belief in themselves and each other to secure their place on a hill in a forest, mostly isolated from (and untainted by) the modern comforts of city life – to attempt to build from the ground up the home of their dreams.

In a roundabout way, they have made it easier for us to believe in our own crazy dreams.

I hope that Jeanne knows this, her spirit now freed from the limits of this life. I hope she is now surrounded with warmth and color and sound like I remember on those Saturdays, the tall yellow grass and the green pine trees glowing in the early sun, the grasshoppers and butterflies and rusted cars, that fresh mountain air – the sounds of family, of children alive with wonder, of adults building, laughing, singing, planning and celebrating life. I hope she is at peace – and ready to receive her man when that time comes to be the tandem once again that stood strong for so long on that Mountain.

Memories

The outpouring of condolences and sympathy has been greatly appreciated over the past few days, thank you. Many have asked if there is something that can be done to help or if there is anything we need, and the offer is greatly appreciated, but I have had a difficult time coming up with anything in reply. However, I think I've finally come up with something: if you have any pictures of Mom or stories to share about interactions with her over the years (I only just learned, for instance, that Mom was a deft skier and actually taught Dad how to ski), please send them my way and I'll make sure to get them included in the memory book that is being put together.

Scanning and emailing are the best and simplest ways to get these materials to us, but if those means are unavailable, please feel free to send hard copies to us by mail. If you need the address, please call or email (I don't want to post it here for fear of it being captured by junkmail impresarios).

The Inevitable

We did our best to inform people as quickly as possible today, but chances are we didn't get to everyone, so for those who were not aware, Mom passed away today around 1 PM. She went quietly in her sleep, and as Dick and Beth could attest (they visited her a couple hours before it happened), she was looking more peaceful than she has in months.

There are no services planned (at Mom and Dad's request) and Mom will be cremated, but the sisters are putting together a photo and memory book that will presented at some point down the road. For those interested in attending, I will let you know as soon as something is planned.

This is hardly the way I wanted things to go for Mom, but at least she's no longer in pain and can finally rest.

Holding

Having checked in with Mom on a daily basis over the past week, it's clear that she's not improving very much. Her food intake was down to about 10% as of last weekend, and in the past few days that amount has decreased to practically nothing. She appears to be unable to swallow (food, water or medication), so she's losing weight and her left side seems to be seizing periodically, either due to restlessness or lack of anti-seizure meds. Fortunately, her morphine drop is still going so she's not in any residual pain from her operation or anything else.

Neither the hospital nor the hospice staff are sure, but it appears that Mom may have had another stroke during surgery on her arm, so there has been almost no movement on her right side. Her ability to communicate is severely diminished, and during our visits she fades in and out of consciousness, only able to say a few words. The rest of what she is able to say is unintelligible, but the look in her eyes and her facial expressions during those brief lucid moments show that she is connected, if only for a few minutes at a time. Our visits thus have been mostly composed of holding her hand, talking to her, telling her about our adventures, telling her how much we love her.

For anyone considering a visit (and you're welcome to do so), please be aware that the sight of her in this condition is a bit of shock, so be prepared.

Far From Great News

Mom has been moved up to the 7th floor at St. Vincent's to free her room up for a cardiac patient, but her condition is not getting a whole lot better. She was a little more lucid when working with an orthopedist today, and they are going to take her off one of her pain meds so they can try and localize the origin of her continuing pain (the orthopedist said the arm looks great and the stitches can come out, but she continues to moan occasionally in pain).

Dr. Unger was also up there yesterday morning, and at the time she was running a low-grade fever and she is beginning to show some fluid in her lungs. The cause of the pneumonia is unclear, and there are also some kidney function issues that, while not currently threatening, show that her kidneys are not performing as well as they could. She is not eating very much, even though Kathleen, Janet and Bev have all been up to visit and help feed her, and there is some concern that she is not able to keep taking all her necessary medication.

Given all this, Dr. Unger has made a recommendation that Mom be moved to hospice care at Maryville. It's probably the hardest decision Dad's ever had to make, but in the interest of her comfort and knowing full well that she is miserable at St. Vincent's in her current state, Dad and I agreed that this was the best move. The word "hospice" of course carries a lot of baggage with it, but there is always a chance that Mom could recover. The most important thing at this point is to keep Mom as comfortable as possible so her body can do its best to fight its way back to health.

Mom is probably going to be moved to Maryville tomorrow, and once she is, I'll let you know where she is located. Flowers, cards and visits will be most welcome.

Just a Little More Info

Dad talked to the ER doctor, and there's indeed a clot in her leg, and there was 2.5L of urine being retained. They're moving her up to room 644 for tests and observation. She's pretty out of it and they're giving her more pain medication, and they are still concerned as to why she's feeling pain in her arm, as they were thinking it should be subsiding by now...might be circulation-related, but who knows. She also had a slight fever earlier in the week, but that seems to have backed off.

So that was a curveball

I've seen Mom the past few evenings and though she's been groggy from the meds, she's been relatively cheerful and seemed to be getting better. But Dad told me today that Maryville called to inform him that she was complaining of pain in spite of her oxycontin and that she was feeling pain in her leg.

His first thought (and theirs) was blood clots, so they took her to the ER for a sonogram and to monitor her status. We haven't heard much since, but my understanding is that she's still at St. V's.

More as I find it out.