It took me 3 seconds to raise my hand when asked if someone wanted a miniature schnauzer puppy. I did. Pick me... I heard she was selective on who she would give the last litter her little Coconut bore. I was hoping to be the lucky one. My parents and I were both lucky.
It's been a running joke from the moment I picked up Dutch and Baron from my dear friend's house, that her mom was now my dog's grandma. People are weird about animals. And you never enter into the weirdness until the animal weaves their way into your heart.
I walked into her hospital room as she sat there looking better than I imagined her to be. There, propped up against the pillow, sat a woman with a wound vac covering her upper thigh. Her 1 ton bull just happened to run her over crushing her leg. I still remember the pictures. I still remember her story. It was as though she had just fallen down instead of nearly being trampled to death. She chuckled and told me she would teach it a lesson by throwing him in the pan. She wasn't joking.
From the moment I met this woman, I was enthralled. I don't know if it is because I am in love with her daughter and her daughter's family or if she is just that much of a badass. Her stories always intrigued me. Always.
Last year, she was diagnosed with cancer. It was aggressive and terminal. What kind? It was a long name, I think. What kind wasn't the point. It was her reaction. "Eh..." Or, that's what I imagined it to be. I guess I just always had this impenetrable attitude towards her. She has always seemed so invincible, and truth be told I barely knew her. I saw her last Match when I dropped by to borrow a dog crate from her daughter. She was in town for a round of chemo, and I had the opportunity to spend some precious moments with her. I itched to ask her how she felt about dying. I itched to ask her if she was ready. I never did.
Sadly, I didn't get to see her again last year. Just recently her daughter informed us that her mother's cancer had spread viciously throughout very vital places in her body. It wasn't looking good. Honestly, it never had. But she was a tough one... She was always the kind of person you heard people say, "Heck, she is going to outlive us all." Huh...
A week ago Sunday, her daughter asked if she could put me on a list of "people who can help mom when I need someone." It is an honor to be able to be on that list. My work with home health has given me skills and honors to be able to help in such a case. My answer was of course yes! She needed me Thursday. I was there.
We spoke of the bull, Dutch and Baron (of course) her short short stint as a novice, her family, the weather, politics, religion, football... You name it, we talked about it.
I itched to ask her how she felt about dying. I itched to ask if she was ready. I never did.
Friday morning she ended up in the ER. She died Saturday night. I don't think I can explain what strength this woman had. Because I don't think I actually knew how strong she was. Perhaps most of it was stubbornness, but a lot was just pure life and living it. I truly admired her. If you think of her and her family, please say a prayer. Cancer does suck. And, no matter how much time you have to say, "Goodbye. I'll see you on the other side. I love you," or any other sentiment, it is never enough. Never.
It's been a running joke from the moment I picked up Dutch and Baron from my dear friend's house, that her mom was now my dog's grandma. People are weird about animals. And you never enter into the weirdness until the animal weaves their way into your heart.
I walked into her hospital room as she sat there looking better than I imagined her to be. There, propped up against the pillow, sat a woman with a wound vac covering her upper thigh. Her 1 ton bull just happened to run her over crushing her leg. I still remember the pictures. I still remember her story. It was as though she had just fallen down instead of nearly being trampled to death. She chuckled and told me she would teach it a lesson by throwing him in the pan. She wasn't joking.
From the moment I met this woman, I was enthralled. I don't know if it is because I am in love with her daughter and her daughter's family or if she is just that much of a badass. Her stories always intrigued me. Always.
Last year, she was diagnosed with cancer. It was aggressive and terminal. What kind? It was a long name, I think. What kind wasn't the point. It was her reaction. "Eh..." Or, that's what I imagined it to be. I guess I just always had this impenetrable attitude towards her. She has always seemed so invincible, and truth be told I barely knew her. I saw her last Match when I dropped by to borrow a dog crate from her daughter. She was in town for a round of chemo, and I had the opportunity to spend some precious moments with her. I itched to ask her how she felt about dying. I itched to ask her if she was ready. I never did.
Sadly, I didn't get to see her again last year. Just recently her daughter informed us that her mother's cancer had spread viciously throughout very vital places in her body. It wasn't looking good. Honestly, it never had. But she was a tough one... She was always the kind of person you heard people say, "Heck, she is going to outlive us all." Huh...
A week ago Sunday, her daughter asked if she could put me on a list of "people who can help mom when I need someone." It is an honor to be able to be on that list. My work with home health has given me skills and honors to be able to help in such a case. My answer was of course yes! She needed me Thursday. I was there.
We spoke of the bull, Dutch and Baron (of course) her short short stint as a novice, her family, the weather, politics, religion, football... You name it, we talked about it. I itched to ask her how she felt about dying. I itched to ask if she was ready. I never did.
Friday morning she ended up in the ER. She died Saturday night. I don't think I can explain what strength this woman had. Because I don't think I actually knew how strong she was. Perhaps most of it was stubbornness, but a lot was just pure life and living it. I truly admired her. If you think of her and her family, please say a prayer. Cancer does suck. And, no matter how much time you have to say, "Goodbye. I'll see you on the other side. I love you," or any other sentiment, it is never enough. Never.
Rest in peace, Bernice...
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