I used to have a boss who had a unique philosophy regarding decision-making. His mantra was “I try to put off making a decision as long as I can because if I wait long enough, sometimes the decision gets made by itself.” I always thought that was a poor strategy, especially for a boss to adopt and employ. I don’t have an issue with waiting until all the facts are gathered before deciding, I just don’t like the procrastinating. I can’t say if my old boss and his procrastination philosophy was spinning through my head when I decided last September to postpone the final committal of Coleen’s ashes to the earth until “sometime in the spring” or if I am just making the correlation now. Either way, I am regretting my decision to wait.
At the time, it seemed the right thing to do. Coleen had been cremated and there was no urgency to do anything with her ashes (or cremains, as the funeral industry likes to say) so I decided to decide later what to do. I liked my decision at the time. We had been through so much already I thought it would be better to wait until later to take that final step. It would give me time to find the perfect burial plot and come to terms with her death. We could have one more chance to gather in her memory and say goodbye.
Today, I am six days away from the day that Coleen’s urn and ashes will be buried, committed as they say, to her final resting spot. It will be in a beautiful spot in a beautiful cemetery that she hand-picked. I have made all the arrangements and have invited all the appropriate guests. Mostly just family with a sprinkling of close friends Coleen gathered over the years. Some out-of-town guests but mostly local. The priest from our church who presided over Coleen’s funeral service seven months ago will perform the committal service also. She had previously counseled Coleen and knew her well and as she is retiring at the end of this month, I wanted her tp do this final service for Coleen. I have hired a cellist to perform briefly before and after the service. During Coleen’s final weeks and days, she developed quite an affinity for the cello. I played cello pieces on the stereo at home while she was resting in our living room and on the night she died, we had them playing in her Hospice room. I have no idea what her final thoughts were, but I know for certain the last music she heard was from a cello. Six days from now we will all hear it again.
In my planning, I have reopened so many wounds. An old friend once spoke of recreating old pains as “ripping out sutures” and I feel that is an appropriate description for what I am feeling. I have these scars all over me. They are on my heart, on my soul, in my memory and they flow through my entire being. They are mostly at bay, controlled by my activities and my reluctance to constantly live in the past. The scars are a result of the open wounds created by losing someone so close and the resultant slow and deliberate healing inspired by so many factors around me. I have heard it said that the wounds heal, but the scars are there forever. I feel that way today. Except I feel like it is necessary to let the wounds heal a second time as I have ripped them back open. Wonder what that scar will look like?
Much of me today wishes this were all over. That I would have done the burial at the time of the funeral. One death, one day, one set of wounds and scars. Instead, in my decision to delay the inevitable, I feel I have created a monster. For myself at least and quite possibly, everyone else as well. I have had Coleen’s urn in my dining room since September and truthfully, have almost considered keeping it there permanently. Not that I would do that, but the thought has occurred to me. But isn’t that just me holding on? Of course it is. My decision to postpone the final piece of Coleen’s life is all about me and her and us. It’s me digging in and pulling back on the rope with all my strength to keep from letting go. It’s me refusing to commit her ashes to the earth because she still belongs with me and I with her. It’s me refusing to say my last goodbye.
I didn’t think this would be so hard but I have been wrong about so many things in my life, I shouldn’t be surprised to underestimate this one. People say this is good, it will bring closure. In a way I thought I already had closure but I guess as long as I still had the urn in my possession, there was still closure yet to come. Six days from now, that will happen. We will gather beneath a tree on a sunny spring morning. There will be family and friends and two beautiful granddaughters running through the sun. There will be flowers and tears, the wonderful music of a cello playing and words spoken in Coleen’s memory. It will be a beautiful experience and the attendees will talk fondly of it for years to come. And my wounds will once again begin to heal and my scars will start to reform. And then maybe my procrastination will somehow make sense. Six days from now, enough time will have elapsed that we can embrace the wonder of Coleen’s life. Seven months ago, we were still mourning the loss of it.
This morning I poured too much cream into my coffee and it turned a light shade of beige and tasted funny. I thought immediately of Coleen because she was very picky about how much cream went into her coffee. Many was the time I would have to drink a few sips from her cup, making room for more coffee, after she rejected my first offering because it was too light. Funny how things unremarkable can trigger memories like that. Just the parts and pieces of everyday life the two of us shared and didn’t necessarily pay much attention to can suddenly stand out now at unpredictable times.
It’s past six months now since Coleen’s death on that September evening. I am just now getting around to having her ashes buried in the cemetery plot I bought back in October. In two weeks, her family will gather as the priest from our church who presided over Coleen’s funeral service will say a few words. We won’t be at the cemetery long. When I leave there, I will be leaving behind the beautiful urn containing her ashes to be buried beneath a headstone I have not yet purchased. I do not know what else I will be leaving behind that day. I have no idea of the emotional impact of that morning but I expect it to be significant. What else will I be burying along with that urn of ashes?
Her urn has been in my/our dining room since the day of her funeral service. Since she was cremated, I did not feel any urgency to pick out a cemetery site to memorialize her. Once I did select one, I decided to wait until the spring to have a ceremony. I was a little bit selfish with that decision and sometimes I wonder if I shouldn’t have done the burial the same day as the service. It would have been all at once and would have been over by now. People would have had a place to go and take flowers to and talk to her. Looking back, I think it would have especially helped her parents to have that opportunity. They are from a generation where visiting cemeteries on certain days is very common and I think that may have brought them some closure.
Instead, I kept the urn close to me. It has a place in my dining room surrounded by some of Coleen’s precious plants and where it gets a lot of afternoon sun. Coleen sometimes stood in that window when the sun came through and relished in its warmth and light. I have held my hand to the urn many times during the past six months. I have knelt in front of it, placed my forehead on it, kissed it and shed many tears. It has brought me equal amounts of comfort and sorrow, sometimes independently, sometimes both at once. It is beautiful and I will miss it but it doesn’t belong to me. It belongs to all of us and should be shared with everyone who loved and lost her.
Before she died, Coleen and I discussed the resting place for her ashes. She had no specific place in mind to be spread and when I mentioned that it might be nice to have a place to go, We decided on the cemetery not far from our house where she used to ride her bike through. Her plot is in an older section of that cemetery where there is a lot of sun. There is a tree just a few feet away that offers some shade every day, too. She would like the part sun, part shade location.
When the service is completed that morning and everyone comes back to the house for a catered lunch and drinks, I will have left Coleen’s urn and ashes behind. That’s all though, except maybe the fact of her death. But everything else, everything that was always important to us like our family, our memories, our love, that all comes back to the house with me. That will always be with me.
I have known my Uncle Bill all my life. He was a late in life baby and his sister, my Mom, was very young when I was born. As a result, only eight years separate My Uncle Bill from me. It’s not that those eight years made us close because we haven’t been. My family moved away from the little Ohio river town of Martins Ferry when I was about two years old and although we returned to visit frequently, the distance was enough to keep me from knowing my uncle that well. I remember him as kind of a cocky teenager and very athletic. He was a baseball, football and wrestling star and went to University of Tennessee on a football scholarship.
Through the years as a child, I would see Uncle Bill on Thanksgiving or Christmas most years. He settled in Tennessee after college and has lived there since. Now, and for the past 25 years or so, we get together on the first weekend in August for our family reunion. I see him several times there, then no more for the rest of the year. We make sporadic phone calls to each other and always say we should do that more often but we never do.
This year though, things have been different. Since last June, Uncle Bill and I have spoken quite often. Circumstances have dictated that and I wished they were enjoyable and celebratory events that brought us together but they have not been. Last year, Uncle Bill lost both of his sisters, his only siblings, within less than three months of each other. He was also diagnosed with early stages of dementia. The illness and death of my mom kept he and I in touch via phone and he stayed at my house for the weekend of her funeral service. I won’t forget how confused he was that weekend. It started with his air travel here and continued all three days of his stay and right up until I walked him back into the airport. He was not the same Uncle Bill I have known. I remember how good Coleen was with him. She talked to him constantly and made him feel very comfortable. She even took him for a walk one afternoon and he got tired after about 10 minutes. The confusion I first noticed two years earlier as he and I played golf had gotten worse and was noticeable to everyone but him.
I called my Uncle Bill a few days ago. Actually, I was returning a call his wife had made to me. Since I lost Coleen, they have been very attentive to me by staying in touch to see how I am fairing with things. I feel in some ways I am a replacement for him now. I am the next relative up for him since he lost his sisters.
Uncle Bill and his sisters had a distant relationship but they loved each other. They argued and bickered a lot about things that didn’t really matter but always got over it. And they talked on the phone to each other. Probably not as much as they should have. I’m sure Uncle Bill thinks now that he would give anything to be able to call one of his sisters and tease them about something. He is a world class teaser.
We ended up talking that night for over an hour. I mentioned that my uncle is suffering from dementia and has frequent difficulty finding his words and pronunciating some of them. That hasn’t stopped him from talking though.
We spoke that night of many things, mostly his condition. We also did a lot of reminiscing and talked a lot about my mother and grandmother and how life was when we were both younger. I realized two things while we were on the phone. Firstly, it occurred to me how few people I have in my life to share those kinds of memories and history with. And that list will decrease by one if Uncle Bill’s dementia gets stronger. He was very lucid remembering places and people from my mother’s life, especially her three husbands. The only other people in my life now to share that part of my past with are my brothers and I’m not sure how much of that they paid attention to.
The second epiphany I had that night was about legacies and how fleeting they are. My uncle and I got on the subject of his mother, my Grandma Mabel who was quite a character in her own right. I have many vivid memories of her. After he and I conversed about her for several minutes I said to him, “You know, there aren’t many of us left that knew Grandma and can talk about her like this.” Uncle Bill got quiet for a second then said, “No, I guess you’re right.” She never did anything newsworthy in her life. But she worked hard, raised three children, saved her money, and lived a full life. I would like to know more about her but there is no one around to teach me except my uncle. I don’t know how much he ever knew about my grandmother’s childhood or her parents, but whatever it is, I better find out fast before I lose him too.
A few years ago, I reconnected with a long-lost cousin from my dad’s family named Casey. He was working on our family genealogy and needed some information about me, my brothers, and our families. He invited me to that year’s family reunion which I attended and where I met an entire new family of wonderful relatives. Casey introduced me to a woman who knew my father when he was a boy. She knew a lot about our family history. I remember Casey saying to me, “I have to get as much information from that old bird as I can. Nobody else knows what she does and she won’t be around forever. When she goes, it all goes with her.”
We had an old photo in our dining room of a man sitting surrounded by several children. It was an old photo, circa late 1800’s maybe. Coleen’s grandmother had given it to her and the man sitting was Coleen’s great-grandfather Nicholas. I often looked at that photo and wondered if that was the sum of that man’s life. If that picture had become his legacy. There are few people left alive now that know the names and history of that man and those children. Since Coleen died, there are even fewer. I gave that photo to her sister so she could try her hand at protecting his legacy.
I found boxes of old photos in my mom’s apartment after she died last year. Some of them were very old and I had no idea who the people were in the photos. I knew my Aunt JoAnne would be able to identify them and I would be seeing her soon at a family reunion. I took those photos with me and she recognized everybody in them. And it was a good thing I did because she died a month later and I don’t think there is anybody else who could have answered those questions.
I will see my Uncle Bill again in August like I do every year. We have known each other for a very long time but things will be different this year. We have both lost a lot since last we met and in some ways, we are all that we have left of certain people and times of our pasts. He is one of the few people left in my life who knows some of the things I do. I would like that to last as long as it can. Protecting memories, prolonging legacies.
One day a few months ago, my granddaughter Samantha was spending the night at my house. There was no occasion, just her and I hanging out together. She thinks it’s a big deal to do that and, truth be told. so do I. When she was brushing her teeth before going to bed, she opened the doors beneath the sink and stood on the bottom of the vanity so she could reach the faucet better. I told her I thought that was a great idea to do that and asked her how she learned that trick. She said, “Grandma showed me when she didn’t die yet.”
Those were Samantha’s exact words. I know that because I heard her say them and I will never forget them. Children are so pure. It didn’t matter to her that the proper way to say that was “Grandma showed me before she died.” Or “Grandma showed me while she was still alive.” It doesn’t matter how the phrasing goes, the message at the end is the same. Samantha lost her grandmother. Of all the ways to say it, I kind of like hers best.
She was a little shy about saying it. I think it was because she wasn’t sure how to verbalize it or exactly which words to use. It was the first time she mentioned Coleen’s death to me on her own and I’m sure she was a little uncomfortable with it. I like to think part of her shyness was to protect me. Like she wasn’t sure how I would react to hearing those words so she was being very gentle with me. Am I giving her too much credit for that? Maybe, but I don’t think so. Samantha is a very caring and sensitive little girl and she had an incredible grandmother to learn from. Just for not nearly long enough.
I’ll never forget the excitement Coleen and I had just before Samantha was born. She was our first grandchild and was a little late in arriving. It was a Monday morning and we were both at work waiting for the news. Lindsay’s husband Mike was keeping us updated with text messages and when the one came through saying “getting close,” Coleen called me. “I’m leaving now,” she said and of course I did too. We rendezvoused at the hospital and just as we were getting on the elevator, another text came from Mike saying “It’s a girl!” We met Samantha about 45 minutes later, when she was brand new. The joy and happiness on Coleen’s face as she held her daughter’s daughter for the first time will always be unforgettable to me. Coleen was a wonderful mother and I knew that she would be even better as a grandmother. It was the perfect role for her. Just for not nearly long enough.
There is a bond between women that few men understand. They have these incredibly honest and caring relationships with other where they can say anything without hurting anyone’s feelings. Usually. They can talk for hours about topics seemingly unrelated and somehow eventually return to whatever it was they started their conversation with. Coleen was like that with her sister and with Lindsay. Her bond with her daughter was very special and like so many things around us, even more special once it’s been taken away. Lindsay told me a few days ago that she was kind of jealous. She said there was no place to go to find a new mom. I could find another woman to be with as my companion and wife, but she could never find anyone who could be a new mom. That role can never be filled for her.
Wow. I had never thought of that. I was so busy thinking my loss was the greatest loss of all that I never considered the full consequences of my daughter’s loss. She is right. There is no e-harmony or match.com website where you can interview for a replacement mother. You only get one of those per lifetime. And sometimes their lifetime is not nearly long enough.
I don’t know what made me do it but just a few minutes ago I opened one of the drawers in Coleen’s dresser. It was a small drawer where she kept some mementos and paperwork. I rummaged around in there for a minute and came across a greeting card that she had purchased but never signed or sent. It was a beautiful card with a lengthy message of love from a mother to her daughter. From Coleen to Lindsay. I couldn’t read all of it because it is just so sensitive and delicate and it made me cry again. I wish Coleen had given it to Lindsay “when she didn’t die yet,” but I’m equally glad she didn’t. In this world of messages and signs and things found, is it preposterous to think that this card was meant to be read after Coleen was gone? That she is using this card to deliver a message of love to her daughter, telling her how much she loves her even though she can’t be with her. I don’t think it’s a stretch to think that. I think that’s exactly why I found it today. And exactly why I will give it to Lindsay.
I am very saddened today and a little angry thinking about all these things. Thinking about daughters and granddaughters and lost opportunities. I wish there was something I could do to make it all better. I am learning to deal with my demons of Coleen’s death and managing to slowly find my way. But when it’s about my daughter and her daughters and the loss they have suffered, I will always be angry that they were so cheated.
Of all the things I learned this week, two of them stand out. One is that there are some amazingly talented people among us. Two is that I am lucky to meet some of them.
I was invited to attend a press conference held by the Breast Cancer Coalition of Rochester (BCCR). Each year, they award grants to local scientists who are researching breast cancer cures. The press conference was to announce and introduce this year’s recipients of those grants and it was held at the offices of BCCR. The reason I was invited to attend was because of Coleen and the Executive Director of BCCR, Holly Anderson.
When Coleen and I talked about arrangements during the weeks that preceded her death, one of the decisions she made was about donations. She told me that she didn’t want flowers at her services but donations made for metastatic breast cancer research. When I asked her what organization would do that, she answered very succinctly, “I don’t know, find one.” I eventually contacted Holly because Coleen always spoke highly of her and her organization. I thought Holly could advise me of an organization that was specific to research and she said, “You know, Rob, we do that here. We can make sure all donations get spent on research.” She made the decision for me and memorial donations in Coleen’s name were sent to BCCR and directed to research. Exactly as Coleen wanted it. When they scheduled their awards ceremony, Holly was thoughtful enough to invite me to attend so I could witness the process of those donations turned into research.
I brought my daughter Lindsay with me for the 70 mile trip to Rochester. I had never been to the BCCR offices but Lindsay was there once for a program that Coleen brought her to. And Coleen was there many times. It was a regular stop for her in her role as Patient Services Director for the Leukemia Lymphoma Society and it was there that she became close friends with Holly. Lindsay and I arrived 30 minutes early and had a chance to meet some of the BCCR staff and also the grants recipients. Holly talked to us and showed us her office and the chair Coleen always sat in when she visited.
I had never been to any kind of press conference and was excited about this one. There were crews from two local television stations filming it and members of the press. It started promptly and Holly spoke first about what was about to happen and some of the goals of the organization. She said the number one goal was to lock the doors and go out of business because that would mean that their job was done. That a cure for breast cancer had been discovered and they could finally move from that challenge to another. She was eloquent. After the two $50,000 awards were made, each doctor had a few minutes to explain the project they would use the money on. Dr. Helen McMurray from the University of Rochester spoke of her intention of researching specific cells to unlock the secrets of metastasis. That was the exact target that Coleen wanted to hit.
I can not explain the range of emotion I felt as I sat and watched the ceremony. It was powerful to be present while Coleen’s donation dollars were transferred to such capable and passionate scientists so they can continue the research Coleen sought. So they can make more progress toward a cure. I was honored to be a witness to that. Of course, I was also terribly saddened, and remain so, by the demoralizing event that initiated those donations. I might call it bittersweet if that word was strong enough. It is not, though. The ultimate reward of being in attendance for such an uplifting occasion won the day for me and more than enabled me to overcome that sadness.
The atmosphere in the offices of BCCR is filled with enthusiasm and passion. The facility itself is beautiful and the staff of BCCR is made of extremely talented and knowledgeable people. Lindsay and I spent quite a bit of time talking with various staff and board members of BCCR and came away inspired by their accomplishments as well as their ambitions. I have always thought that once talent meets passion, remarkable things can get done. That is what is happening at the Breast Cancer Coalition of Rochester. It is a very impressive organization.
When we first met with Holly that day, she noticed the flower lapel pin I was wearing and commented on it. I wasn’t sure if she knew the significance of it so I briefly explained that it was a drawing Coleen had done and I had it made into lapel pins. Later, as we were leaving, I asked her if I could give her one of the pins and she happily accepted it. Not only did she accept it, but she put it on. Holly had an award of her own to accept that day given by the Rochester Business Journal. I saw a photo of Holly receiving her award on Facebook that evening. In it, she was still wearing her flower pin.
Can one woman’s death make a difference? Can a roomful of talent, passion, knowledge and desire make a difference? Or a bunch of people walking around with a cute little flower on their shirt? I don’t know. I’m just proud to be somewhere close to it all and trying to add what I can.