A longer view...

“…weeping may endure for a night,

but joy comes in the morning…”

- Psalm 30:5 - Bible

The photo fell from a small notebook I had moved when cleaning the office.  There were two in the picture – a 90 something woman, with the empty stare of someone encouraged to smile for some unknown reason – a vacant sense of emptiness in her eyes that gave away nothing of the rich life experience that had been her legacy.

The other a confident, a bright eyed woman with charisma that jumped off the paper.  Every thing about her said, “I am joyfully alive and am facing the moment – carpe diem!”

That was then and this is now…

Mother had been suffering from Alzheimer’s for several years before this picture was taken; the bright-eyed woman with charisma to burn, my sister – now in the throes of the same devastating disease…not in her 90s, but early 60s.  The irony in this photo…all but overwhelming.

Nancy Jeanne, my ‘little sister’ …a woman whose strength, determination and persistence was, at least in our family circle…legend.  One is reminded of the story of the 'talents' in the scripture.  The master gives three servants some money (talents) and goes away on a journey.  Upon his return, he asks for an accounting of how the servants used the talents.  Two of them doubled their money, to which the master says, “…well done thou good and faithful servant, you have been faithful over a few things, I will make you ruler over many…” (Matthew 25:21 – Bible).  The third servant did not use the talent given him, burying it in the ground.  The master chastised him and cast him away.  This Parable, as all parables, is meant to be a metaphor…in this case the gifts we have been given in our lives and how we use them.

In Nancy’s world there were no mountains too high, no obstacles too problematic, no hurdles from which she withdrew.  She had only two speeds: rest and 100%! Somehow, there was a solution to whatever problem emerged and encouragement to anyone who might not quite have the tools necessary to handle the unrelenting gravity of life.  She had been a successful businesswoman, who spent a decade in New York City as a trailblazing female executive, before coming to Missouri.  In Jefferson City, she spent nearly 25 years bringing her thoughtful; innovative skills to a local bank while, as a single parent, raising her daughter.

A special life

Nancy had been spared twice: once as a baby she was struck by an unknown acute respiratory attack.  Her color turned and she struggled to breathe.  It happened in the isolation of our cottage, in Canada, when she was under the age of two.  My father drove the gravel back roads with the terrifying skill of a grand pre professional, while a cousin held the gasping infant in his arms.  They made it to the emergency room, thirty miles away, in time and she survived.

While in high school, she was coming home with her boyfriend on rainy and road-slick night.  The accident that night caused her to go face first through the windshield on the passenger side, and among other things, opened a large gash to her right cheek.  As fate would have it, a plastic surgeon happened to be at the hospital when they brought her in.  She survived the crash, and the skill of the plastics man eventually left her with almost no discernable scar – on her face.  She was marked with a dime-sized area of hair, just at the widow’s peak, that grew from that moment to this day…a distinguished pure white.  In many ways, it was a symbol of the way she lived her life – with distinction.

Later came the war – but first there was lunch

In the summer of 1969 I was in the U.S. military and had received orders for Vietnam.  This would be the last summer, before heading overseas, at the cottage where I had come every year of my life.  Our maternal grandfather had purchased a parcel of land in 1910 in South Central Ontario where, in subsequent years, family members built cottages along the sides of a bay.  This summer was particularly meaningful, because it had the potential for being my last.

Nancy and I decided to return to the States together…me to leave for a foreign land and she to university.  On our way home, we stopped at Niagara Falls for lunch at one of those rotating restaurants on the top of a tower overlooking the Canadian side.

You know how some things in life get burned into your memory in ways that remain crystal clear every time they come to mind?  I was sitting on the inside of the table looking, over her right shoulder, out the window on this clear sunny day; we both had shrimp salads.  As the restaurant slowly swept by the falls on its ‘one hour per rotation,’ I looked across the table and it was though I had never really seen Nancy before.  I was overcome by feelings of love for this young girl/woman.  The moment might have been framed by the anxiety of my impending overseas tour, or perhaps a heightened appreciation for a possible last glimpse of things familiar.  Whatever the impetus for that moment, is now lost.  Not lost in that brief and brilliantly clear moment, however, is the rich and deeply moving realization of how much my sister meant to me.  I didn't know what lay ahead, but knew beyond doubt, if I returned home, this woman would become my best friend.

Life has a way of acting out its own screenplay

I survived the war.  As I have grown older and the optimism of youth has become mixed with the realities of life, I have still kept a sense of wonder and gratitude as to what might come next…just around the corner.  I have also learned that life can be cold…very cold, and the way we react to the temperature has everything to do with whether we survive the ride.

And so in her early sixth decade the chill of winter has been too much for my sister as she slips across the ice into the darkness of dementia.  In the seemingly most unjust, unfair and reactive of ways, I find myself asking, “Is there meaning or purpose?”

No, seriously, “…is there any purpose to life?”

In the shallow end of the pool, the easy answer is NO!  In the shallow end of the pool, the anger and pain that wells up at this seeming injustice, yells, “HELL NO!”  In the shallow end of the pool, it is easy to say, “What then is the point?  I’m just asking, is there a point?”  These expressions create a caricature that professes a fearful and self-centeredness that is really saying, “What about me!” 

An opportunity for a deep breath and a little introspection.

There is a longer view…there is deeper water.  Whether one lives for 20 years or 80 years, matters not.  For one only really lives in the ‘…moment of present consciousness…’  The ‘…moment past…’ cannot be altered; the ‘…moment yet to come…’ cannot be predicted. 

How long into the future in ‘…moments of present consciousness…’ my sister will have and at what level, is unknown – our family is long lived and how quickly she will lose us is uncertain. However,  the unalterable moments of ‘…present consciousness…’ she had in her life cannot be altered.  They were productive and they were meaningful.  Pieces of her charismatic zest for living were left with everyone who had more than passing interaction with her.  There was no one too big or too small,  touched by her, that did not know there was something special about this woman.  Her defiant honesty, her richly felt compassion, her intellect and broad view of the playing field always left things better than the way she found them. 

Her ultimate gift?  A daughter, instilled with the same sense of honor and compassion; planted with a sense of justice – of right and wrong.  Nancy paid the game of life forward with every breath she took, as she recognized life was truly a gift – no guarantees for the next step. 

Life that ends this way is tragic and sometimes seems to be unfair.  People who love and care express themselves with words of condolence and sorrow.  In these circumstances, we often don’t know what else to say. 

The compassionate care of friends and family ARE meaningful and ARE of real comfort.  Yet there is no condolence – no sorrow necessary here.  There is, of course, the work needed for her care as long as she has breath, BUT there is a celebration, to have her still with us, a remembrance of the example she left by making the things she touched so much better.  Nancy spent her life, gifts and skills, building up the people and things around her.  While her life has been diminished, she continues to fight and shine and share, and love within her capacity as she always has. Truly it could be said of her “…well done thou good and faithful servant…”

- ted