Still Walking Around

   My husband was 42 when he died after a long battle with cancer ten years ago. If CaringBridge (a website to keep friends updated) was around then, I didn't know about it. We didn't use Facebook then, either. So during his illness, people would call--a lot--to ask about Marcel's health. A few people would call frequently, meaning well, but they'd be upset and dramatic and I wasn't always in the mood to be their counselor.
   We had a neighbor who was really distressed about Marcel's illness. Once, when there was an announcement on the radio about a fundraiser that was being held for our family, this particular neighbor panicked and thought she'd heard them announce Marcel's death. She called, and left a long message on our answering machine, about how sorry she was to hear of his passing. I thought Marcel had died, and that I was the last to know of it. This neighbor did the same thing a couple weeks later. It was just as annoying the second time she did it.

   So sometimes when the phone rang, I'd pick it up--already wary and upset. One day, a woman named Linda called. I'd met her a couple of times, because she worked in the office of my husband's general doctor. She started to see claims for Marcel coming through for very serious procedures. She knew we had little kids, and she wanted to help. 

   I was kind of abrupt with her at first. That week, I'd had some experiences with people who said they wanted to help, but it was more about them than about what we actually needed. But Linda--she told me I could call her "LB"-- didn't give up. After talking with her for a few minutes on the phone that day, I realized she was sincere. And she was not creating any kind of drama that I had to sort out. I started listening. Her kids were grown, she lived in Lawrence alone, she wanted to help with the kids if we needed it. We needed it. 

   Around this time, after a 2+ year battle and numerous serious procedures, it became apparent Marcel's health was in a downward spiral. There were no more treatment options. Our sons were about 1, 2 and 5 then. Marcel's cancer had gone to his brain and he was often confused, dizzy, hallucinating. We lived in a townhome with lots of stairs. We didn't have any family in town. I couldn't care for him at home. I arranged for him to be admitted to the only in-patient hospice facility in Kansas at the time, Midland Care in Topeka. 

   As it turned out, although Linda lived in Lawrence, she went to church in Topeka. Often, after church, she'd meet me at the hospice house. She'd help me with the boys. And just Be There With Me. I don't remember so much what we talked about. I do remember that she was beautiful, in a real person kind of way, and she had pretty eyes--honest eyes. Linda was a calm presence. But she had gone through this before. She loved a man, and had a daughter with him. And that man died. And then she loved another man, and had a daughter with him, and that man died. 

   It helped me immensely at the time, to see that after going through all that, here was a vibrant and beautiful woman right in front of me, Still Walking Around. She'd faced tremendous loss, and she wouldn't be the same. But, she was Still Walking Around. And she was willing to wade in with me when I was adrift. Linda made sure I wasn't alone. Just a of couple months earlier, Linda had been almost a complete stranger to me. But she made sure I wasn't alone.

   Marcel spent the last few months of his life, the end of 2000, at Midland. He made friends with the staff, other patients, and high school students who volunteered there. One Saturday in late November, Marcel took a turn for the worse and by the end of the day, he was unresponsive. I arranged for help with the boys at home in Lawrence, and I stayed in Topeka. 

   I was alone there with Marcel when he died that night. We knew it was coming. We'd known for some time. You can prepare, but you are never prepared. I was in shock. After I summoned the nurse, she left me alone to collect my thoughts. 

   And then, amazingly, Linda walked into the room. She glanced at Marcel and said:

"Oh, he's sleeping? I was at church rehearsing, and I thought about coming here to see you. And then I realized it was late, and that you'd be in Lawrence, putting the kids to bed. So I decided not to come. But then it was like my car just drove here, and for some weird reason I ended up here, so I went ahead and came in. 
Why are you here so late?"

   Linda sat with me at length that night. And so it was, for the upteenth time, she made it so I wasn't alone. By being there, being present, in messy times that don't make for pleasant dinner conversation, and listening to that voice that told her to be there, Linda made a vast difference in my life.

   After all the losses--my dad, Marcel, my mom, my friends Krista and Pastor Galloway--I'm different. I won't be the same; things can't go back to the way they were. But, good things have happened, too. There are still blessings to count. At this point in time, today, in this moment, presently, on March 30th, 2011, in Lawrence Kansas. . . I am. . . Still Walking Around.