So Sad

I had forgotten to retrieve the mail this afternoon. R walked down to get it while the girls and I stood in the kitchen and wolfed down some cold pizza. We attended the girls spring recital and having been in such a hurry to arrive on time, we neglected to eat something. Thus, we were standing in the kitchen having our dinner over the counter, chatting.

K, only four, walked to the front of the audience. She stood for a moment looking at the crowd. Then grinned and covered her mouth, still smiling wide. The people cooed and crowed. After introducing herself and her piece, she climbed onto the bench and played her song. Everyone clapped and giggled at her cuteness and she bowed deeply, grinned again, and walked back to me, waiting on the side. Of course, E, A, and C played perfectly, beautifully. They weren't bothered by their youngest sister's having upstaged them.

R entered, mail in hand. I immediately saw my April Lucky (with Amanda Peet on the cover- what a lovely woman), and the newsletter from our church back in Missouri. I left him to sort and sift while I perused the newsletter first. When I flipped to the back, I was suddenly and deeply saddened. A woman whom I deeply admired and whom had been a quiet mentor for me as a young mother and wife, died last week from cancer at 44.

Carol had always been trim and fit, active in her community, church, and lives of her family. She had four children and nursed them all until they were a year old. They moved away several years after we moved to town, so my intimate knowledge of her wasn't very strong, but I watched her from afar, gathering in her quiet kindness, her sweetness to her children, her friendship and love of her husband. Bob was one of the few men who would serve in the nursery and my A loved him. She didn't particularly like to be separated from me for any length of time, so I didn't start placing her in the nursery until she was about 15 months. She would cry and be generally inconsolable. However, if Bob were there, she would clap her hands, smile and reach for him. Bob is about 6'10 and truly a gentle giant. I recall once Bob was serving communion in the evening service. A gentleman whose wife had abruptly left him, claiming him boring after 15 years together, sat behind us, quietly weeping, alone. The piano playing reflective music, the congregants quiet, I could hear him crying behind me, yet I didn't know him well enough to say anything and I didn't want to draw attention to him. Bob took the communion plate from R's hand and stepped to the row behind us. I turned my head slightly and saw the massive, tender hand of Bob resting on G's shoulder. He said nothing, but the relief of such a private and painful burden, was for the moment, relieved. Bob stood there for a few minutes. The kindness of one man to another brought tears to my eyes. They rolled down, dripping onto my hands into my lap.

R and I were the youth leaders for Bob’s and Carol’s children for several years. Each Christmas, Carol would bring some unique trinket for us in thanks for sharing with her children. The last year they lived in our town, she crocheted a bookmark, tying a sea blue ribbon on the end. The card told me that she knew I enjoyed reading and thought I would enjoy having something to keep my place.

They found out Carol had breast cancer in 1996. We were all shocked to hear it, just as anyone is to learn someone they know has cancer. It always happens to the people in articles or on billboard cure testimonials, not to those we personally know. I began to pray in earnest for her. A mutual friend shared the difficulty of her treatments, and the exhaustion they caused. After a radical mastectomy and radiation she was pronounced cancer-free. She had reconstructive surgery and started her life again. Now experienced in the pain of this wretched disease, she began to actively support and campaign for a cure. She ran local 5K's, volunteered, educated, reached out to other women soaked in sadness and despair, giving them hope and encouragement.

My life became busy, but I would think of her each time I used the bookmark. Holding it between my fingers, feeling the softness of the thread and ribbon, I would pray for her health, for her constitution, for her family and faith and that I could be as courageous, honest, and lovely should I ever have to face such a challenge.

The radiation that killed the cancer in her breasts caused cancer elsewhere in her body. It was a fight she would not win. She leaves behind four children, ages 23 to 16, and her best friend, partner, lover, husband. My heart breaks for their loss.