5/2016
I came to say goodbye to one of my most favorite people, Kate G. She had been through a grueling time of a delayed diagnosis because someone couldn't stop and listen to the wisdom of a woman knowing her own body. This was followed by some of the worst experiences a person should never have to go through. It was called medicine. It failed her.
We were all handed a ticket to an early showing of the end of her life. There was no time to prepare for the show. It had already started. Kate had entered onto a stage she wasn't really prepared for and given a part for which she'd never read the script.
Sure, we all talk about how we'll act on that stage when it's our time, but, the truth is, there's no script...for any of us. We ad lib it to the best of our abilities. The part requires fearlessness while you are filled with fear. Strength, lots of strength, when it is waning, be it emotional, spiritual or physical. To do it well, grace is a benefit to possess. It is difficult to maintain that grace while playing this part. You are required to give up most control, sometimes dignity, usually independence. Grace can be difficult to come by most days. If you have anger about this new part and its intrusion into your life, you may be called upon to act this out on stage also. You are required to play this part out in front of your loved ones. They try to support you but don't know what you truly need.
Angst from the audience as they wait and watch.
The music plays slowly in the background. You have always believed we are music slowed down into the physicality of human form. That our truest expression of our souls is the music to be released when we finally shed the shell of our human form. It is then free to finally express its unique song. You play your part beautifully as only you can. You muster laughter that is mixed with sorrow. You raise a fist to the air and say whiskey-tango-foxtrot! You utter your disbelief. You pray. You cry. You are amazed at the outpouring of love towards you, as if you think you don't deserve it. You speak of mistakes made, of travel plans with Sue not realized. You become withdrawn, lost in thought at times. How did you get on this stage, you ask? You did not rehearse or even try out for the part. You were busy when you were called to play it. You do not have time for this. There were other parts for which you had prepared. Yet, you press on. Saying goodbye, receiving last rites, listening to your favorite music as you wait for the curtain to fall. How many acts are in this play? Will there be an intermission? When will the music be expressed in its truest form, free from all hindrances of our physical selves?
You mount a valiant effort. This will be your last performance and you are painfully aware of it. You invite me onto the stage. A special guest appearance. I am humbled. What can I possibly offer you? I'll learn it is not about what I can give you, but what I will receive from you. You tell stories of your life that I'd never heard. We laugh, we cry and you tell me I'm officially dismissed. A fragment of control and I am thrilled you have spoken your mind. There's nothing to say that will change your fate. I struggle to find words of comfort. I pray for you, sharing my deepest desires for your healing. I spend most of my time trying to meet practical needs. Feed the dogs, feed the fish, and don't forget to feed Sue! Then there's the laundry and food and cleanup. Soon I develop a semblance of a routine.
Sue and I soon find ourselves in little vignettes within your play. We share our own stories of childhood, life experiences. We share laughter and tears. We speak of the deeper things in life. We spend countless hours troubleshooting your play. We somehow think we may be able to change the next act. We get busy making chicken broth and custard. We go to bed bleary eyed thinking we've developed a new strategy for the newest conundrum. That becomes a common word for us. Every twist and turn creates a new conundrum.
You walk on stage and tell us to stop trying to figure it out. You tell us we can't. It is what it is. There is some relief in that. We decide to concentrate on quality. We go for your final ride and find just what you're looking for. Del's lemonade in Colt State Park. You look out on the water and smell the salt air, and feel the warm breeze on your face. Quality. Pure quality. You go home to bed and prepare for the final act.
In this final act, there are no vignettes. It is a solo appearance. We call your family and a few closest friends to share this final act. There is something difficult and sacred about this act. The audience is hushed. It will be difficult to watch. The tension is palpable. It is of a final release, a letting go coupled with a tenacity to somehow continue this role in this play you weren't interested in playing. The music is almost dissonant now. Trapped within the physicality of this present reality and yet longing for the freedom of expression that awaits it.
Soon the music begins to change. It becomes perfected. We have never heard anything quite so pure. It is inexplicable. We turn to each other in utter amazement. We look for Kate and cannot find her in the ways we've always known her, but she is somehow still present. The performance continues but is only of music now. We sit speechless, enraptured in this sound that is ethereal, carrying us to heights we've never experienced. The music begins to fade. The curtain falls on one of the best performances this world has ever known. We will miss you deeply, our dear Kate. May the heavens resonate with the beautiful expression of your true self.
This is a truly magnificent piece. Thank you ❤️ for everything 😘