…And Still More

 Since May, eight of our friends have passed away besides Brooke Bailey, about whom I wrote about in May. (She died on the fifteenth.)

…And they just keep coming…

Bob Wille

Bob Wille

Sherry Derr-Wille and Bob

Bob was the husband of one of my writing partners. They had been married for just short of 60 years. He died on May 10.

Lynette Christy

Lynette

On June 26, we finally located her younger brother just to discovered she had died about six months ago. We’ve looked for her off and on for years. He told us she had married and moved to Ecuador—quite likely the reason we hadn’t been able to reach her. Larry and I and his best friend and Lynette double dated for a couple of years. Larry’s friend passed away in 2008. We had hoped to share this video of when we were all together with her. We sent it to her brother to show her son.  https://youtu.be/uKh4mhEqStM

Teri Atkinson

Teri

She was related to our great-niece, Savannah. Her mother died when she was eleven, and her grandmother died ten days later. Terri was like a surrogate grandmother to Savannah and a lovely lady. We shall miss her.  https://tinyurl.com/4vkkwh9m

Shaun Corrales

Shaun

Shaun was my cousin, Eileen’s oldest child and her only son. He passed away on May 22. He was only 55 years old. https://www.echovita.com/us/obituaries/ca/templeton/shaun-luis-corrales-19855537

Bernice Smith Schwenck

Bernie

Bernie passed away on May 23. I will write more about her separately.

Nelloise Blue

Nell

Nell passed away on June 27. She had been a member of our church for many, many years and was a loving and sweet friend to many of us.

Wendy Jenkins

Wendy

Wendy was a longtime friend and church member. She passed away today, July 10. She had an infectious smile and a wonderful sense of humor. (She always accused me of dying my hair!) She took a bad fall a couple of weeks ago. We visited her in the nursing home, and she was anxious to get back home. She did return, but then had a series of strokes. I shall miss her very much.

 

Far too many in a short time.

Celebrating a Life Well-lived

Today we celebrated the life of my longtime friend, Karen Stone.

I met her when her then-fiancé brought her to church (Community Presbyterian in San Juan Capistrano). However, as we talked, I realized that we probably had met years earlier. Growing up, she attended the Monterey Park Methodist Church. My best friend, Kathleen Murphy, also went to that church. It was an active congregation. They presented musical events, luncheons, and plays. Throughout high school, I attended most of them with Kathleen. So did Karen

Eventually, she and Jeff Stone were married and became a part of the large, active couples’ group at the church.

I learned early on that music was very important to both of them. Karen played the marimba, and before long, she began to play for the church talent shows, worship services, and other events, accompanied by Armand Stephanian on the drums.

Jeff also played several instruments, so their shared love of music was a special bond.

For many years, Jeff hosted “The Ragtime Show” on local station KSBR on Sunday nights between 8:00 and 10:00 p.m. Through this interest, he and Karen began to attend the annual ragtime convention, where they made many friends who shared their passion.

Their musical interest didn’t stop there, however. They were members of the Laguna Folkdancers. Karen invited us to join them, but our schedule never seemed to allow us to do so. They also took dance lessons: western, ballroom, etc. We were also invited to join them for this activity.

Both were active in social justice issues. They belonged to a group called Beyond War, along with several others in the congregation. They were instrumental in having a Peace Pole installed at CPC.

Karen’s service today was held at the Neighborhood Congregational Church in Laguna Beach, where she and Jeff became members when they moved to Laguna Hills. As we parked, I noticed a Peace Pole there as well. I smiled to think that either it was there to welcome her and Jeff when they arrived, or they lobbied to have one installed there. In either case, she had found a new home.

But she never completely left CPC. She attended many events there even after she moved her membership.

Karen worked part time in the office at Community Pres in SJC for about eight years, from May of 1983 until about 1991. Virginia Webb and she shared the position until the church hired a fulltime office administrator.

She was always a joy. She worked under Rev. Robert Schwenck. At the time, Sunday bulletins were hand-typed, laid out on large boards, taken to the printer, and proofed. Then volunteers folded them on Friday afternoons. My mother, Vera Mansfield, was one of the volunteers. She and Karen became close friends. For several years, Karen, Darla (the bookkeeper), and Virginia took Mom for lunch on her birthday. Mom loved Karen.

She attended many of the church’s women's retreats at Wylie Woods Presbyterian Conference Center. Even after she and Jeff moved to Laguna Hills and began to attend the Neighborhood Church, she came to every one.

Karen was a terrific photographer. She took photos at each retreat and put them together on a large poster. A couple of weeks after each retreat, the ladies led worship based upon the theme for the weekend. One of Karen’s posters always greeted us on an easel as we entered the sanctuary for the service.

She also mounted her photos on notecards. I purchased some from her and looked forward to receiving a note from her on one in the mail. Karen was a lovely correspondent.

She let us borrow some of her photos for the 100^th anniversary book we created in 2019 for the church (Community Presbyterian Church of San Juan Capistrano: 1919-2019 – 100 years of History). Of course, Karen attended the events of the anniversary weekend. She and Jeff are both featured in the book since Jeff designed and installed the first sound system in the sanctuary.

Until her death, Karen remained a faithful member of the CPC Prayer Chain. She often emailed or called me for more information about a prayer request.

At eleven years old, in 2003, my friend’s daughter was diagnosed with a rare form of Muscular Dystrophy. It only affects children, and it is always fatal, usually within two years. We put Emily on the CPC Prayer Chain. I occasionally sent updates. However, Karen subscribed to Emily’s Caring Bridge site. She called me occasionally—especially when Emily’s condition worsened. Against all odds, Emily lived until 2019 when she was twenty-six! Much longer than anyone had expected. You can read Emily’s story here.

When we received the news that Emily had passed away, Karen called me, and we wept together. Through all those years, Karen prayed faithfully for Emily, just as she did for many others.

Karen was proud of the charity her mother created: Mary Erickson Community Housing. Because of Karen, CPC has supported this organization for years.

Karen was a gentle warrior, fighting for justice. She was kindness personified, but she had strong beliefs and did not hesitate to express them. However, I never heard her raise her voice. She was a good and faithful friend, loving wife, and stepmother to Kathy and Chris. She had a radiant smile and gentle nature. And I am proud to have called her friend. I shall miss her.

My Brother, Ron

Today is Siblings Day. I lost my only sibling, my brother, Ron, on August 31 of last year. He died peacefully in his sleep, for which I am most thankful.

My normal way of coping with loss and grief is to write about it, but I was not able to do so. His death was so unexpected, I didn’t have the words for once in my life.

The first month was a nightmare of cleaning out his mobile home. I won’t even try to describe the terrible condition of his place. Several days the temperature neared 120 degrees—without air conditioning. Fires raged nearby, so the smell of smoke permeated the air, and the place itself stank. He hadn’t allowed anyone inside for several years, so even his best friends had no clue as to how awful it was. I wish I had known.

We located his medicines, and it quickly became apparent that he had not been taking them—no doubt contributing to his demise. He was still under a doctor’s care, having undergone prostate surgery several weeks before, so she was able to confirm his heart issues and diabetes.

I was thankful he didn’t suffer for a long time. He would have been a terrible patient and would have done his best to make everyone around him miserable as well.

Among his things, we discovered a spiral notebook filled with his handwriting. I knew what it was because about ten years ago, he told me he had an idea for a story. At the time, I asked him to send me a couple of chapters and said I’d edit them for him. He did so, and the kernel of an idea was a good one. He wanted to describe what life was like growing up in post-WWII Southern California.

I encouraged him to finish the book and promised I’d edit it and get it published. I never heard any more and assumed he had given up the idea. Yet, here was the notebook.

It contained only six pages―more of an outline and not a complete story. It was lacking details and development to bring the story to life. Fortunately, Larry also grew up in the same neighborhood and agreed to work on fleshing out and completing the book. (Ron never told us how he wanted it to end.)

Larry and I completed the book, and it provided the catharsis I needed. Larry designed the cover using an old street sign from our street Ron had acquired many years before. He modified the name to the name of the book. (Ron and I had agreed on the title when he sent the first chapter to me.)

Dominic Drive was published on January 15, 2021. The immediate response was terrific. A number of his friends commented on how they could “hear” Ron saying some of the words. I loved this because in some instances, I wrote them. Our goal was for his voice to be consistent throughout the book, and the comments indicated we had accomplished our goal.

You can read the reviews on Amazon, but some of the ones I received in letters from friends were even more meaningful. Here are a few. (I have removed spoilers.)

This was from my neighbor: “Lorna, I had to tell you how much I enjoyed your brother’s book. I just finished it and cried so hard at [the end. Charlie’s] character was so well developed that I felt close to him. I also enjoyed reading about growing up in a neighborhood much like mine, even though it was in CT. It is wonderful that you and Larry completed it. Ron would be so pleased.”

This was from a friend who is also an author: “Darn you, Lorna. I was supposed to be making dinner, but I couldn’t put the book down. Then I came to [the end] and I sat and ugly cried. What a heartbreaking (but probably predictable for the time period) ending. Now I’m going to the kitchen. Just wanted to let you know.”

A distant cousin in Canada wrote: “Hi Lorna, I just wanted to let you know I read "Dominic Dr." I loved the characters in this book. My own personal enjoyment came from reminiscing about where I was when certain things happened. JFK's assassination, I was 12 and Canada felt the shock and sadness as if he were our President. I was 15 when I went to Disneyland and I kind of felt like the family in the book took me on a tour. I was 17 when many families moved to British Columbia to avoid the draft...Vietnam. I loved the ending of this book. So many stories end and leave you hanging as to what happened with the characters, real or not. I loved reading a proper ending. Thank you sooo much.”

As I was trying to channel his voice in completing the book, I remembered the little boy I grew up with. I created this video about him.

I also created a video for the book.

So, today on Siblings Day, I share my brother with you. RIP, Li’l Bro.

Full Circle

 My guest today is a fellow graduate from my high school. We both attended an event several years ago and realized our connection. This year, she approached me about editing and publishing her book, and I was delighted to do it. I hope you will enjoy meeting Myra and hearing about her book, Full Circle. (BTW, Larry designed the beautiful cover.)

 

What does a writer gal do when cooped-up during a COVID-19 pandemic? She polishes three memoir and six memory-based short stories and combines them into a book, Full Circle.

As a two-time cancer survivor, uterine and breast, I was motivated foremost to offer solace to my two children. When one is diagnosed with cancer, one’s life implodes. The entire household suffers the cancer with that person. I was not able to handle my own grief and fear, or help my children deal with theirs. I wanted them to realize that this was our story. I did the best that I could, under the circumstances. Their sorrow did not go unnoticed. My supportive husband, friends, and coworkers, were also a blessing.

I decided to publish my book and not limit it to just sharing with my family. I felt the themes were universal and would resonate with a larger audience. Coping with cancer, the immigrant experience, the loss of a baby, shared love of reading, a father’s temper, a beloved colorful great-aunt, the compassionate care of a home health care nurse, who brought me laughter when I had stopped smiling and laughing, plus the devastation of Alzheimer’s, would tug at the heart strings and bestow comfort.

Memories enrich and give meaning to our lives. May you delight in my Full Circle.

About Full Circle (Click title for the Amazon link.)

All nine stories in this collection are the author’s actual memoirs or based on her memories. Some include the names of actual people, while others have been changed. Some are sweet. Some are touching. Some are bittersweet. All are memorable.

About Myra

Myra Fay Graubard earned her Bachelor’s degree in English from California State University Los Angeles. She is a retired instructional assistant, who directed an elementary school computer lab. She also aided high school and elementary special needs students. Ms. Graubard worked as a graphic artist for an engineering firm. She is a freelance writer, who penned a collection of poetry, Within the Without. Her published articles have appeared in Antique Doll Collector, Doll Reader, Teddy Bear & Friends, and The Collector’s Eye. Myra resides in Southern California, ten minutes from Disneyland, with her family

 

Saying Goodbye

Early this morning, I received the following message from my oldest and dearest friend’s husband: “After a month-long illness, Kathleen entered eternity early this morning at Huntington Hospital. 75 years 9 months.”

I was two-years old when we moved into our brand-new house in Alhambra, California. This was post-WWII housing, and nearly all the new owners were families with young children. Throughout our growing-up years, we never lacked for playmates!

Several of the kids on the block became my close friends, but over time, Kathleen Murphy became my very best friend. (She was always called Kathleen. She would not answer if you called her Kathy.) She was two years older, but it never made any difference. When I was ten, we became blood sisters. (We both had younger brothers and wanted to have a sister.)

My 16^th birthday

Her dad worked nights. We rarely played at her house for fear of waking him. So, she spent a lot of time at my house. My mother treated her like another daughter.

School was always difficult for Kathleen. She was dyslexic, and reading was a challenge. We went to college together and took a couple of the same classes. I took notes, and we would discuss the class material driving to and from school because we carpooled. She passed those classes and gave credit to our discussions (and my notes she borrowed the night before tests).

One of the greatest joys in my life was when she called me one day. Her husband had purchased our book, The Memory Keeper, and it had arrived in the mail. She decided to take a look at it. She called to tell me—in great detail—how much she enjoyed it. This was the very first book she had ever read for pleasure. She went on to read all of our books, and she enjoyed them. She asked for other recommendations, and I suggested she try my friend Marilyn Meredith’s mystery series. (She has written two.) Kathleen loved them and read every one. She went on to discover other writers she enjoyed, and recommended them to me. That first conversation with her made all the effort of writing worthwhile for me.

In high school, we ate lunch together every day and made many of the same friends.

My husband, Larry, started kindergarten with her. On their graduation day (two years before my own), she sat next to him, and he held her hand because she was so nervous.

When we were both in high school, we sat at the table in my house drinking tea with my mom. She often used her china tea set. We were talking about our dreams for our future. Mine was simple: marry Larry Collins, whom I was dating at the time. Kathleen described a family of several children, the large, elegant house she would live in, and all the expensive things she’d have. When she left, Mom said, “I hope she marries someone rich.”

She met Bill Stewart when they were both in the wedding party for mutual friends. The next day, she waxed poetic about this guy. I’d never seen her so excited about any previous boyfriend. She married Bill in June of 1966, nine months after Larry and I. She was my maid-of-honor, and I was her matron-of-honor.

Our wedding, September 4, 1965

We were both stay-at-home moms for a number of years. We got together for lunch every month or so at one or the other of our homes. We lived away from California for a couple of years, but we stayed in touch. She and Bill even came to visit us in Illinois—and stayed at the motel next door. We later discovered it belonged to Al Capone’s brother and was being used for gambling and prostitution. They never visited us away from California again!

One day, she invited my mom and me to visit at her new home in San Gabriel. When we arrived, she showed us around the house. As we sat in her lovely and elegant living room, Mom reminded her about our long-ago conversation. “Well, it looks like all your dreams have come true.” Mom was happy for her.

She adored the house in San Gabriel. She loved her neighbors and the boys’ school. She also loved her job at the school. She lived for her kids and their friends.

Bill wanted to move to San Marino, a more prestigious neighborhood. Each time he raised the issue, she came up with some reason they couldn’t sell—yet. I remember some of them.

Early on, she insisted they had to remodel their kitchen. “Remember, dear, kitchens sell houses.” They were torn up for months during the remodel. Then, when it was finished, she had another reason they couldn’t move. “We’ve spent so much time and money on this remodel, we deserve to enjoy it awhile.” So, they stayed.

Over the years, she remodeled the playroom, billiard room, other areas, and, finally the pool house to add a second story. She also insisted they couldn’t move until the boys had graduated from high school. “Dear, we don’t want to make them change schools and take them away from their friends. Don’t you agree?” And Bill agreed.

Finally, he wanted to move to a huge new house in Altadena, and she gave up the battle. She loved the new house—especially her garden. She won several awards for her gorgeous property.

In later years, she developed COPD and diabetes. They took a toll on her health. She became unable to walk and got around on a motorized scooter. One of the highlights of our fiftieth wedding anniversary celebration was when she arrived. Bill had made the effort to get her—and her scooter—all the way from Altadena to Dana Point for the party.

Our 50^th anniversary party with Bill & Kathleen

Not long afterward, she had surgery to put artificial blood vessels in her legs from her groin to her feet to try to improve her circulation and prevent their amputation. (Who knew this was even possible?) It was a grueling surgery, and the recovery was arduous.

Larry and I went to see her in the hospital once she could have visitors. I had a small flower arrangement made using one of my mother’s precious teacups—the same ones we had dunk from growing up.

Mom’s Teacup

When we arrived, she was at her lowest point. She insisted she wanted to stop all treatment and give up. I didn’t argue with her. It was her life, after all. But I asked if we could pray with her. Larry and she and I held hands as I told God I wasn’t happy about her choice, but asked for wisdom on the part of her doctors and peace for her.

As we left—both of us in tears—Larry commented on how strong her grip had been.

I told Bill about our conversation, and the next day he let me know her attitude had turned around.

Two weeks ago, when I spoke with her in the hospital, I reminded her of our conversation and about how much she would have missed. In the interim, her younger son, Paul, and his wife became the parents of Maxine, named after Kathleen’s mother. This little girl looks like her grandma, and has a similar personality. Stubbornness is a common trait.

Kathleen and Maxine about a year ago

In addition to her other two grandchildren, Dylan and Meghan, Maxine was the center of her life. (She wanted Mom’s teacup to go to Maxine. I have promised her that when we can get together, we will have a tea party at my house, and I’ll tell her all about her grandmother.)

Family always came first. She lived for her boys and their friends and their families.

She remained a faithful friend throughout the years, and I shall miss her greatly. But mostly, I am grateful to have had her in my life.

Remembering Emily

We arrived in Osaka, Japan on August 1, 1998. Before long, we began to meet some of the Americans already there. (We were the first of the USJ team to settle there, but other expats were in the area already.) Among the first were members of the US Consulate, including Paul Yeskoo. We were pleased to find they attended the same church we went to. (There was on only one English-speaking Christian church in the area.)

Paul and his wife, Lindsey, had three children: son, Chris, daughter, Emily, and baby Madeleine. Emily, the middle child, was cute, and bright, so sweet.

We were there with them for over two years, and we got to know all of them. My favorite memory of Emily at the time was a weekend in October of 2000 when the entire church decamped to Camp Sengari, a Japanese onsen or hot springs. Larry took his movie camera, and we have film of all the kids running by our cabin laughing together. There is film of everyone eating, playing games, and worshiping. And Emily is in most of them.

A couple of months before we left, the Yeskoos returned to Washington for cultural and language classes before being sent to Shanghai, China.

We returned home shortly thereafter.

About two years later, we heard some disturbing news. Emily was exhibiting some strange behavior. In December of 2002, nine-year-old Emily began to lose mobility. The doctors in China were at a loss to figure out what was happening. So, in March 2003, Emily and Lindsey were medically evacuated back to North America. Emily, now ten-years-old, underwent extensive testing.

The chief pediatric neurologist sadly relayed her diagnosis. Emily was suffering from a rare, fatal disease called MLD, which had in two years almost destroyed the white matter in her brain. No known treatment. No known cure. She was given a prognosis of no more than three years.

Since then, Lindsey has kept all of their friends updated on Emily’s condition through a CaringBridge site: https://www.caringbridge.org/visit/emilyy, where you can read her whole story.

Since Emily’s condition was caused by a recessive gene, her siblings were also tested. Fortunately, they did not have the disease.

The family moved to Toronto, Canada, where Paul was assigned.

Soon, Emily stopped walking, talking, eating. She could do nothing for herself. She remained bedridden and under palliative care. Fortunately, she was able to be at home with Lindsey as her primary caregiver. Despite her limitations, Emily remained aware and responsive.

She came very close to death at least five times. Yet, each time she miraculously recovered. Occasionally, she was able to sit upright in a wheelchair.

Her siblings grew up and moved away. Chris married and is living in Colorado. Madeleine attends college. Through the years, Paul has moved to several posts overseas because of his job. Lindsey and Emily remained in Toronto.

In March of this year, she turned twenty-six—far exceeding all expectations. During the past couple of years, she began art therapy. Her paintings are fabulous. (I hope to work with Lindsey to publish Emily’s art in a book.)

Emily inspired so many people that Emily’s House, the first hospice for children in the world, located in Toronto, was named for her. https://www.emilyshouse.ca/

Last year, Lindsey was awarded the Heroes in the Home Caregiver Recognition Award, from the Central Community Care Access Centre (CCAC).

On Wednesday, I opened Facebook to this post from Lindsey.

The sun rose golden on her still-warm body this morning...but her spirit had been finally set free, released directly from the warmth from my arms to those of the Greatest Eternal CareGiver that ever was. My precious Emily. A beautiful life. A beautiful death, if one can even say that. Our hearts are absolutely broken. But tucked in there is also the immense privilege of having known and loved her and had her as our own (yet not)...and being forever transformed. There is so much more to say. Now is our time of weeping...and her time of leaping…The family is all gathering from various corners of the earth, with the request that our privacy be respected over these coming days. Details will eventually emerge.

I, too, am heartbroken. At the same, I feel so blessed to have had these precious people in my life.

Lost and Found

My father died in 1954 when I was seven and my brother was four. We also lost contact with most of my father’s family. My paternal grandfather bailed. He was an alcoholic, and he and my mother actively disliked each other.

In 1923, when his wife died leaving three children, the oldest of whom was my father at six, my grandfather sent them to live with his older sister. They only saw their father on holidays until my dad started high school. Then he came home and brought the girls with him. He took responsibility for his two younger sisters until they graduated from high school themselves. I have always wondered if my grandfather felt guilty for not raising his own children.

One of my aunts, Rose, lived in Redding with her family. My dad had cut ties with her several years earlier because of her abusive husband, so we hadn’t seen any of them for some time. When I was eight or nine, her children were in our town to visit their paternal grandmother. (Unbeknownst to us, two of our great aunts also lived in our town. My father had nothing to do with them, either, because of their lifestyle. But my cousins visited.)

Their mother called and asked if the kids could come to our house for a couple of days. My cousin, Margaret, and I were close in age. We had such a wonderful time together. Even though she was only there for a couple of days, we both remember it as a great experience. However, we didn’t see each other again for many years.

My dad’s other sister, Mary Evelyn, lived with her family in Sacramento. She and my mother loved each other very much. She was in the military in WWII at the same time as my dad. My mother wrote each of them daily.

She had four children. However, her husband spent several years in and out of mental hospitals. She always worked full-time. As a single parent, so did my mother. The distance between our two families made visiting prohibitive, and long-distance phone calls were far too expensive. Over time, we lost track of her family as well.

After Mary Evelyn’s husband died, she moved to San Diego, where she began to do genealogy research. She located my brother, who gave her our contact information. When she called for the first time, we invited her to lunch the following Saturday.

When she and my mother saw each other, it was clear they still loved each other. From then until her death several years later, we saw her every few months. She attended our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary celebration. I adored her and treasure every minute I got to share with her.

My cousins on my dad’s side of the family remained lost until I located a couple of her children on Facebook. They led me to their siblings as well as Margaret. My family now felt restored.

On Memorial Day of 2011, Mary Evelyn’s son, Roger, invited us to his home for a barbeque. His sister, Suzanne, also came. What a joy to be reunited with them.

Roger, Suzanne, and me

My cousin Margaret was also supposed to have been with us, but she was unable to make it. A couple of weeks later, she was in Orange County. We made arrangements for her to go to church with us and to see my mother in the nursing home. What a great blessing. This was the last day Mom was lucid.

Me, Mom, and Margaret

In March of 2013, Margaret and Suzanne came to Dana Point for a few days. During the time they were with us, we visited San Gabriel Mission and found our grandmother’s grave together. I had tried to locate it years before, but had been unsuccessful. This time, we found it as well as the graves of her brother and her parents.

Lunch in Dana Point: Larry, me, Margaret, Suzanne

Four cousins at our grandmother’s grave: Ron, Margaret, Me, Suzanne

Roger and Suzanne flew down for our fiftieth anniversary celebration. They were the only members of my dad’s side of the family to attend, and I felt very blessed to have them!

Suzanne, Larry, me, Roger

Last September, we drove to Sacramento to meet Roger and Suzanne’s younger brother, Ted. Roger’s twin, Steve, was supposed to come, too, but he wasn’t able to make it. Ted was in town for a high school reunion. This was the first time I ever met him. Unfortunately, none of us thought to take any pictures. Roger barbequed, and we had a great time. We also met Suzanne’s daughter, Sarah, and her family.

In October, Sarah called to say she and Suzanne were coming to Orange County to go to Disneyland and celebrate Suzanne’s birthday. We took all of them out for dinner. This was the first time I had ever been able to celebrate Suzanne’s birthday with her.

Last Wednesday morning, we received an early phone call from Roger. He could barely breathe, but he said he had nearly died the night before. (I still haven’t heard all the details.) He wanted to tell me how much he loved me and how thankful he was that we had been able to reconnect after so many years.

I told him how much I loved him, too. He said how blessed he felt with a wife he adored and a loving extended family. I told hm to save his breath and that I was going to put him on two prayer chains. Later in the day, he called again to be sure to tell my brother he was loved as well. (They had seen each other at our fiftieth anniversary party.)

The next day, he called again and told me to call off my prayer warriors. (Didn’t happen.) He said he was feeling much better with only a couple of other tests to be completed. He sounded optimistic and ready to get back to his activities.

On Saturday, Sarah called to tell me Roger had suffered a heart attack during the night. He didn’t survive. I am heartbroken, and at the same time, I feel so very blessed to have found him again. We shared wonderful memories, and we had closure.

I will always love Roger and remember him with love. I told him the first time I met Ingrid, “She’s family, and I’m keeping her.” I meant it then, and I mean it now.

RIP, Roger, until we meet again. Thank you for loving me and allowing me to love you.

Roger and Ingrid. This is my favorite photo of them.

Peace of Mind

We recently met with our estate attorney to update our trust. We try to do this every few years to be sure everything is current. We discovered several areas we needed to update.

We’ve had our trust for over twenty years. The attorney did a presentation at our church about estate planning, and we decided to take advantage of the opportunity to codify our wishes. I’m glad we did.

At the same time, my mother prepared one of her own. My stepfather had died shortly before, and Mom had a little money for the first—and only time in her life. We knew it wouldn’t last long, but this seemed important to her.

On the day we picked up our paperwork, as we left the office, Mom started to cry. I was afraid she was sad about contemplating her demise. When I asked her about it, she said, “I’m just so happy to have this done. I’ve been worried about it, and now it’s taken care of.”

We had no idea she had been concerned about making sure her wishes were recorded, but her obvious relief made the exercise more than worthwhile.

At the time, we had no idea how important this would be to us. At the same time the trusts were prepared, so were our powers-of-attorney for medical and financial. As Mom grew more and more senile, we had to make many decisions on her behalf. The powers-of-attorney provided for our legal rights as well as hers. We had peace of mind because we knew we were doing what she wanted and had the legal permission to do so.

Another source of comfort for us was having her final wishes designated.

Years ago, one of Larry’s Boy Scout leaders died. His wife shared with us the preparations he’d made. She said he researched all the options and contacted the Los Angeles Funeral Society. When he died, his son called the number on the card he carried in his wallet, and they took care of all of the details.

This happened shortly after the publication of Ruth Harmer’s book, The High Cost of Dying. (Larry had her as his English instructor at Cal Poly, Pomoma.)

The book exposed how mortuaries and funeral homes exploited grieving families by using guilt to convince them to spend more than they needed to.

We decided to contact the Los Angeles Funeral Society. We received several forms where we could designate our preferences (no embalming and immediate cremation among them). For a small lifetime fee, they would keep our records on file and guarantee the lowest prices.

When we moved to Dana Point, we transferred our membership to Tri Counties Funeral Society.

Mom first moved in with us a couple of years later. She had a plot reserved for her next to her ex-husband. After a short time, she announced she’d changed her mind about being buried. “I want to be cremated and have my ashes spread off Dana Point. It’s my favorite place, and I want to be with you.” (Our instructions are to have our ashes spread in the ocean off Dana Point.)

She joined the funeral society and filed her directions. The morning she died, I asked the nursing home if they needed us to come down. “No, we have her direction on file. We’ve already called he mortuary. You can come later in the day to pick up her personal effects.”

A couple of weeks later, the mortuary called us to collect her ashes. While we were there, we prepaid for our own services. Now our daughter won’t have to make any decisions on our behalf, and everything will be pre-paid.

No one wants to contemplate making these kinds of decisions, but I can assure you, the peace of mind having these directions taken care of ahead of time while we were not under pressure made taking care of my mother’s death much easier. She had years of her own peace of mind as well.

Gone Too Soon

On Tuesday, February 27, at 10:00 a.m., we will celebrate the life of our nephew’s wife, Christina, at Sts. Simon & Jude Catholic Church in Westminster.

Early on Sunday morning, January 21, we received a call from Larry's brother, Casey, informing us that Christina, had died. Danny and Christina were not married for long, but our family loved her very much.

She was thirty-five years old, a kind and generous soul, who never turned away anyone in need. She would have given the shirt off her back if she felt someone needed it more, even if it were her only one. She cared deeply about people, especially her close friends, but her whole life revolved around her eleven-year-old daughter, Savannah.

We all adore this child. She is smart, funny, well behaved, and a terrific human being. Her mother deserves all the credit. The two of them were inseparable.

Savannah wrote a complete fantasy novel. Her mother told us about it on Thanksgiving Day, and I asked her to send it to me. Imagine my surprise when I read it and found it was excellent. In fact, it is better than some submissions I have received from the adults for whom I edit.

Savannah understands how to tell a story, how to create a story arc, character arcs, tension, and suspense. She has an impressive grasp of language and understands the value of dialogue. I went through the manuscript and identified a few small issues, but for the most part, it was well done.

Christina and Danny brought Savanna to our house one day between Christmas and New Year’s, when Savannah was on semester break. She stayed with us for a couple of hours while her folks went to the harbor. We discussed my questions about the book. She was articulate and came up with good solutions.

I had promised her as part of her Christmas present I would help her publish it. I intend to keep my promise.

Our greatest concern is the welfare of this wonderful little girl. Unfortunately, our nephew's family has little say about what happens to this precious child. We can do what we are asked and pray for the very best outcome.

Fortunately, she is currently living with her uncle and aunt. We are impressed with them. They responded in a levelheaded manner and now provide a stable environment for her. Her private school has waived tuition for the rest of the school year, so she will have continuity in her education. Her father will have custody, but he has granted her aunt and uncle temporary guardianship through the school year.

All of us around her feel an obligation to her mother to provide emotional support to her and to those around her. Christina had many close friends, and they want to help in whatever way they can.

I identify emotionally with Savannah. I, too, lost a parent as a child. I know how it feels to be set adrift without a rudder. I know about the large hole a parent leaves in a child’s life. And I know it never goes away.

Christina is gone far too young, and the rest of us around Savannah owe it to her mother’s memory to provide a stable and supportive environment for her child. Our hearts are broken for our nephew, Christina’s family, and her daughter. We feel helpless, and we would like to help in some way.

Right now, we’re taking one day at a time and doing whatever appears for us to do.

Have you ever had to deal with the death of a young person? Did you find anything of help? If so, what?