She was diagnosed with an autoimmune disorder 25 years ago. Over time she developed a variety of further medical issues, some directly related, some not so much. She became gradually more and more limited…less mobile, heavy fatigue. She had to stop working a couple years ago, was hospitalized several times recently, and by the time COVID hit was leaving the house mainly for medical appointments and not much else.
In October 2020 she went in for surgery. The operation was successful but there were complications, and then complications on top of the complications. There were times when they thought they might be able to release her soon to a rehab facility; then there were times when things were not going well at all and she needed a ventilator, another operation, dialysis.
In early January, after nearly three months in the ICU, there was a particularly bad infection requiring yet another surgery. By late January it was clear that some of her organs were beginning to fail and that she would not be recovering in any meaningful way. Together we made the decision that she would be taken off the equipment and let nature take its course. She died with me holding one hand and our daughter holding the other. I hope it was peaceful for her. I think it was, as much as it can be.
We had a very small service (COVID restricted us to about ten people besides immediate family) at our church, zoomed out to other family members and friends who couldn’t be there. Comforting and appropriate, but sad.
She was enthusiastic, kind, and curious about everything around her, a lifelong learner who loved teaching children and loved teaching college students who wanted to become teachers. She loved her family and friends fiercely and without reservation. In every way she fit the admonition in the Book of Micah to “do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly with your God.” We were together for forty years, married for 37. I will miss her greatly but am grateful she won’t be suffering any more.
One story from her final days, just to inject a little levity into an otherwise depressing narrative. A couple days before she died the hospital sent in the psych team to interview her, to make sure she was really of sound enough mind to make these decisions. She couldn’t speak but could hold a pen and could write if I held the notebook at the correct angle, so she wrote her responses and I read them out to the team. She was clearly capable of making decisions and the psych people seemed convinced…until she wrote “At least the psychopath is gone.” I read that aloud and we looked at each other in consternation. A psychopath? In the hospital? Was she delusional after all? She must have noticed the looks on our faces, because she signaled me for the pen and quickly wrote “Trump! I mean Trump!” Compos mentis, indeed!
Thanks for reading.
Ulf