Geraldine Fay Lindquist Johnson
She’d been in my life for 43 years. For much longer than my own mom … who died when I was 31. I remember when she excitedly extended her hand to show me her rings. I had travelled 1195 kilometers to visit with her and my dad. Sick. I felt entirely sick. She never said a word, but her eyes were twinkling as brightly as the diamonds perched prominently on her left ring finger. It took everything within me to bite back the tears in order to feign ample and appropriate enthusiasm. Seriously … how could they get married without even telling me?? I never asked. Some things feel better left unsaid.
And so, I always spoke of her as “my dad’s wife”. However, some 15 or 20 years (!!) later, I actually came upon the truth. She had no idea I believed they were married. It was all a complete misunderstanding. The truth was that she had been working on him relentlessly … begging for matrimony … for years! But for reasons known only to my very stalwart father … he steadfastly refused to remarry. I could sense the pain of rejection in her heart because as she said … for a woman of her generation … it would be particularly shameful for her to die an “old maid”or “spinster”. And so, to spare herself any public embarrassment, she adopted his last name and wore her wedding rings very proudly. I got it.
All she ever wanted was to be a wife and mother. But my dad died unexpectedly without ever officially saying “I do” to her. And, although she had also pressed me to call her “mom” … I’m not sure I much embraced her as a parental figure. I guess the whole decades long belief that they had been ‘wedded without me’ had made her his ‘wife’ in my eyes, but certainly not my ‘stepmom’. Instead, I opted to affectionately call her“Ger” instead of Gerri … and … she fondly called me “Kar” instead of Karen.
In addition to my own little family, I was all Ger had left after my dad died. And, at 82, she was still living on her own. We had looked into alternate spaces, but it distressed her terribly to think of leaving the home she had shared with my dad. I had finally convinced her that she needed to wear a Life Alert because she was getting less stable on her feet and had fallen a couple of times.
Celebrating her 82nd birthday …
Ger’s health had always been tentative … and she had regularly experienced days when she was laid up … feeling “punk”. Usually it was because she had bitten off more than she could chew … trimming branches on trees, moving furniture, shampooing the carpets etc – by herself. Yes. I said by herself. When she got an idea in her head, she had no patience to wait for help to arrive. And so, she often overdid it and paid the price.
But, the malaise that preceded her landing in ER on July 31, 2017 had persisted for nearly three weeks. When I got stern with her – questioning her reticence to call her doctor – she admitted she was scared about what he might have to say. She had a stint put in some years ago, carried nitroglycerin in her purse and took baby aspirin regularly. Perhaps her ticker was acting up again?
It appears that she was very intuitive indeed … something was, in fact, very wrong.
When she got out of bed the next morning … she took a few steps and collapsed. Thank goodness for her Life Alert button! And so … we found ourselves in the ER … utterly dumbfounded … staring at each other … in wide-eyed disbelief. The sun had barely peeked over the horizon on that fateful Monday and the day had already taken some very unexpected and unfavorable turns. There would be tests and more tests.
And may I say that for as long as Ger has been part of my life, she has always caught me up short by hastily forging head-first into foreboding territory. She always dives in long before I am emotionally prepared to tackle any such precarious terrain. I am far more tentative and reflective about everything in my life. I prefer to tip-a-toe in tentatively and get a sense of things before I move forward with unfettered conviction. But not Ger … she has always preferred to swoop into action … immediately.
It was the same when my dad died very unexpectedly during a summer BBQ on July 12, 2009. He had just filled his plate … and enthusiastically declared “This is great!” And then … he was gone.
Ger needed to be ‘doing’ things to help her process her grief. I, on the other hand, needed time to simply ‘be’ with the loss before I could think about making decisions or taking actions that could not be undone. It definitely created some emotional tension for both of us as we mourned the loss of the same man. Nothing wrong with either approach … but … this particular Monday was proving to be no different.
She needed to know, right then and there … and … did not hesitate to ask the attending ER physician just how long she could expect to live. I expected him to defer by saying it would be premature to guess until the prognosis had been officially confirmed. But, much to my chagrin, he responded:
“Maybe two months.”
Whoa. What?? My mind frantically raced for some way to process this blindside. Yesterday was just a normal Sunday. We had a conversation on the phone. I was looking forward to having this particular Monday off work so I could nibble away at my ‘to-do’ list. And, in all honesty, I was still trying to process the death of my father-in-law (who had died just two months prior) . And his passing was fairly hot on the heels of the death of his wife … my mother-in-law (just 7 months prior to that). We were already knee deep … maybe chin deep … into the grieving process. I instinctively resisted.
“We can’t be certain Ger. At this point, it’s all just speculation.”
But she was already making plans. I respected the gravity of her situation enough to know that if this was going to be the last leg of her journey … I needed to honor her desires to do it her way. And so, in order to keep up, I opened a new tab in my Wunderlist App … and labeled it “Gerri”. I started making notes as she determined, discussed and directed what she wanted taken care of before she, too, departed this earthly plane. I left the hospital late in the evening, in utter disbelief … hoping that ‘tomorrow’ would be a better day.
On Tuesday morning, August 1st, I returned bright and early … and … Ger was still making plans. I promised to take her cat, Scamper, home to live with me. She gave me her banking pass code and asked me to update her bank book. I’m not sure why her finances were important in THAT moment, but she needed to be sure that OAS had given her the increase she was expecting. Can do. And … she reckoned that one of the family best take and use the expensive silky cover off her built-in vacuum hose. She’d paid a pretty penny for it … no sense leaving that gem for a renter. Okay. And … she wondered about how she would die … would she suffer? Would she suffocate, would she choke … would her heart take her? Gulp.
I compassionately searched deeply into her eyes and asked if she was scared. She confirmed that if she let herself think about it, she felt frightened. She looked down for a moment and then pensively uttered,“What if … what if I am denied entry at the pearly gates?”
For a split second, I could feel the weight of that worry hanging heavily in her heart. And then, with her next breath she moved quickly past that uncomfortable query and determined that her electric fireplace would look great on a particular wall in the spacious bedroom of her grand-daughter’s new house. Agreed. She was delighted that another of her grand-daughters could use the stand up freezer. Excellent. And the desks … she wanted me to have her antique desk and tea cart. For sure. I was squirming internally as she so casually discussed such things.
I told her it felt entirely awkward, inappropriate and insensitive to be discussing the dispersal of her belongings. Some things feel better left unsaid. She assured me that it pleased her so very deeply to know that her legacy would live on in the belongings that would be enjoyed by those she loved. And, she declared that she didn’t want a funeral. Okay. She wanted us to have a nice family dinner and just talk about her instead. Fair enough. But, I found myself offering an alternate perspective:
“Ger, let’s wait until they do more tests. They could be mistaken. The mass they spotted in your lung might not be fatal.”
How does one even begin to integrate such news when the big “C” was never ever … not for one moment … a prior concern in one’s eight decades of life. They did more tests. And more scans. They needed to consult with the oncologist and the lung specialist. She reminded me to take her ashes, her mother’s ashes and my dad’s ashes to a specified place. We ordered her a TV so she could keep up with The Young and the Restless. It occurred to me that we’d need a schedule so we could take turns watering her lawn and feeding Scamper while she was in hospital.
Wednesday, August 2nd … they did a biopsy on the tumor and were going to do a brain scan when her heart acted up again. They ended up losing her at one point. Gone. Her room was empty when I arrived to visit. After a bit of panic … they sympathetically told me that my ‘mom’ had been moved to ICU. I never corrected them. They used the paddles to revive her. It was shortly after that they got the results of the biopsy and they discovered she also had MRSA. It’s a super bug … an infection that is highly resistant to treatment. It seemed prudent to get the Power of Attorney signed. It was entirely surreal … and … unraveling far too quickly for me.
Thursday, August 3rd … the doc came in to confirm the diagnosis. Yes. Cancer. Stage 4. A small cell type that spreads quickly. They believe it started in her lung about six to 12 months prior and confirmed that it had already spread to her adrenal glands and her liver. It had also metastasized into her lymph system and likely into her bones.
No emotion or tears on her part. Just more action. She decided to sell us her car so it wouldn’t get caught up in probate. It occurred to me that I should probably take her purse home for safekeeping. I reckoned I should bring her slippers. She thought maybe an ice cream would taste good. Funny where the mind goes in a moment like that.
When the oncologist arrived for rounds, she asked again: “how long”? Perhaps two months … unless it was in her brain. She slipped up and later told someone she had two weeks. I corrected her. No Ger … the doc said two months. She second guessed me by asking if I was sure about that. Yep. I was sure. The tests had confirmed it was not in her brain.
Hmmm. She was sure she had about two weeks. The oncologist was gentle and kind and recommended palliative care. And she started planning again.
Because of the contagious nature of MRSA, visitation was counter-indicated for many. We had to mask-up, glove-up and gown-up completely to be in her presence. A few of the family came to visit, but for the better part of her hospitalization … it was mostly just me and Ger.
Monday, August 7th … Myrna (Ger’s late brother’s wife) made the long trip from Saskatchewan. I could sense Ger’s delight with her arrival. They had remained very dear friends. And, she seemed tickled with our three-way conversation. At one point … in true “Granny style” (as my girls would fondly suggest) Ger looked at both Myrna and I and fervently exclaimed:
” After all of this … if I don’t die … I’m going to be really pissed off!”
We all burst into laughter at the paradoxical nature of her comment. I suggested that maybe instead of having a dinner after she passed, maybe she could join us in a family feasting when she moved into Palliative Care whereby she could “eavesdrop” on our conversation about her. Well, she thought that would be okay … but … could we have a dinner in her honor afterwards, too? Of course. And we’ll be sure to serve Lucy’s famous chocolate cake! Lucy is my son-in-law’s lovely mother … and … her chocolate cake recipe has become a family favorite!
Tuesday, August 8th … we talked about the things she could do to decorate her new home in palliative and make it feel like home. The white shag carpet. Perhaps an armchair … if there was space? Maybe we could sneak Scamper in for a final visit? Maybe we could smuggle in a ‘go cup’ filled with her favorite Royal Red wine … aka “Granny’s swill” ? She hastily put the brakes on that idea. She was entirely averse to getting evicted from palliative care before she got settled in. We laughed … and yet … there was something sobering about the absurdity of all that we were so casually discussing.
Her decline was rapid. The very next day, she unexpectedly lost some lucidity. She told Myrna she was quite sure she had died at 2:17pm. And, by the following day, she was unable to speak with any comprehensive coherence. And, it was becoming more and more difficult for her to breathe. They cancelled her transfer to palliative.
And so, true to form, even in her dying … Ger wasted no time. Once again … her pace was far too fast for me to process comfortably. And ultimately … she was right. It wasn’t two months. It wasn’t even two weeks. It was 13 days …
At some point during our last 13 days together, Ger told me that she came into the world alone … lived most of her life alone … and … expected to die alone. In that moment, my heart ached for her … because in so many ways … she was right. Her father had been murdered. Her mother could be quite abusive. My father – her spouse – was emotionally disconnected. She had limited contact with her brother before he died young of melanoma. She had endured a whole lot of trauma and abandonment in her life. The stories she recanted broke my heart.
And … I could not deny that I, too, had contributed to her sense of loneliness. I was often too busy to make her a priority. It takes 1.5 hours round trip to get to Ger and all our family from where I live … so a quick pop-in every now and again was just not possible. I had gone back to school as a mature student to complete my BSW as well as my MSW … and … was also employed as a counselor in my community along with running a small private practice of my own on the side. I have one husband, three daughters and eight grandchildren … so … the pulls for my attention are/were persistent and plentiful. In addition to that … within the last three years … the demands on my time had become increasingly intensified as my aging and ailing in-laws health deteriorated and their medical needs and chronic crises eclipsed any predictability in our lives. I am also a landlord with four rental properties. In all honesty … I had been struggling to keep all those balls in the air and had become entirely depleted trying to do so.
That said, I did my best to ‘be there’ for Ger … but … I always knew my best wasn’t nearly as much as she wanted and/or deserved in terms of my time and attention. And, in all honesty, it troubled my heart to know I was falling short of her expectations. And so, with an ache in my heart for my inability to make the days of her life less lonely … I committed myself to being there ‘with’ her and showing up fully ‘for’ her … during her final journey home. I let her know I was “all hers” for the duration.
I spent some long days with her at the hospital. I really didn’t want her to be alone when she passed. The staff knew me as her ‘daughter’ and referred to Ger as my ‘mom’. I never corrected any of them. Some things feel better left unsaid. In fact, I could feel Ger’s heart swell with these new terms of reference in the space. And, in all honesty … it felt really good to me too.
As it turned out … she waited until I had gone home for the night on Saturday, August 12th. The nurse called me, just a couple of hours after I left, to say that my mom had taken her last breath while they were making their rounds and tending to her comfort. I was surprised by how hard it hit me. I thought I was prepared …
It was to be our 40th wedding anniversary the next day. I didn’t feel like celebrating. So we didn’t. And, although it does my heart good to know that she wasn’t actually ‘alone’ when she passed because she had the nursing staff with her … it still struck me that Ger was being a bit of a ‘stinker’ for not letting me be there when she transitioned. My daughter suggested that perhaps she waited until I was gone because she, in fact, didn’t want to leave me alone when she passed. Hmmmm … I still tear up when I think of it that way.
We hired a Life Celebrant (thank you Shelly Bassett!) who met with us in advance to gather our recollections … and … she composed a beautiful ‘life story’ honoring Ger/Granny. Shelly orated this meaningful tribute to her as we gathered in a large circle in our back yard on a very warm, sunny day. Our celebration was complete with all of Ger’s very favorite things … including taco in a bag! Her grand-daughters and I wore pieces of her favorite jewellery and we toasted her with her ‘swill’ and some Japanese ‘sake’ that she had liked to share with her grandsons. It turned into far more than just the conversation she wanted us to have about her. I recorded it … and … we have a printed copy of the ‘story’ of Ger/Granny and all she meant to us.
Ger took great pride in her home and took such impeccable care of things. I have updated my own space with so many beautiful things of hers. Her energy is now present in each room of my house. By the way, I discovered a number of ‘spreaders’ in her kitchen drawers. I took three of them home with me and passed the others on to my daughters. I figured if she had more than one, they must be good.
Well … I am not sure how I lived almost 60 years without one! Who knew they would make such a culinary difference! I bought new ones for all my daughters! I even bought one for my bestie! If you don’t own one … or … haven’t tried one … I highly implore you to allow Gerri’s legacy to touch your life too, in this small way.
As I was going through her belongings, I came across something in her most precious memorabilia. Many years ago, one of the ways I attempted to combat the commercialization of Christmas, was to have us make homemade gifts for one another and attach a meaningful affirmation to each other. I discovered she had saved them. And … I share one year of our affirmations of her with you here because they offer a beautiful snapshot of just who she was to all of us:
And, I absolutely sobbed when I came across one she had kept that my dad … the man who refused to marry her … had written:
THAT she was. My dad’s life was irrefutably better because of my step-mom. His prior lived experience had carved some pretty sharp edges into him … but she loved him unconditionally … even during the times when he could be pretty darn difficult to love. And, she cared for him tenderly and compassionately during the most fragile and unbecoming moments of his own journey with cancer. And, she tended to him with her whole heart … and … she never failed to make him her utmost priority in life. Ever.
And, I must also add, that Ger’s life was undeniably better because of him. He offered her more safety and security than she had ever experienced within her family of origin. And that doesn’t mean their relationship was all roses and sunshine. No. A union of two wounded souls cannot be without its darkness. But, in all honestly … I could see that they were unarguably, the answer to each of their prayers.
Ger and I had eight years together after my dad passed, but … I can honestly say that our last 13 days became a cherished time of deeper connection for us. We were able to meet each other in that sacred place beyond the accidental hurts, misunderstandings and unmet expectations that sometimes prickled between us. And instead … we embraced a felt sense of the unconditional parts of the love that we also held for one another.
With the deepest of reverence, I came to appreciate her idiosyncratic way of being in the world … not as my dad’s wife, but as my step-mom. Yes. It was truly a blessing to be gifted with that space and time … a divinely orchestrated opportunity to ‘be’ with each other in deep, unfettered and meaningful ways.
And so Ger … I really want to “thank you” for launching promptly into action even before they could confirm your diagnosis. Were it not for that, I would never have been so aware of all your wishes. And, I remain committed to honoring each and every one of them … except one.
Please accept my sincerest apologies … but I didn’t bring Scamper home with me the day you died … as I had promised. Through an amazing turn of events, I became aware of a youngster who really, really wanted to have him. And I suspect you will forgive me, because as I look at this picture of the two of them together, it appears to be a match made in Heaven. That said, I am wondering … if perhaps … you somehow had a hand in orchestrating this sublime alternative for your furry feline.
And ultimately … I need you to know Ger … I have been shifted and stretched to a better version of myself as a result of our precious 13 days together. You taught me that there is something deeply transformational about sitting with the dying. I erroneously assumed that being with you was going to be my gift to you … but … I can see now that … the gift was mine.
I feel so very blessed to have shared that sacred space with you and I remain humbled by the love and energy in our final moments together. Thank you for loving me … like every good mother would do. Always. In your own special way. And thank you for caring so deeply about me … as your only daughter.
My home is filled with reminders of you … and … I will carry so much of your spirit in my heart as I greet all the days yet to come. I hope I can bring some of your feisty energy with me into our family celebrations. Your generous heart will be missed in more ways than you can imagine.
Thank you again Ger … I am truly so much better because of your presence in my life … and especially … because of our precious last 13 days together, ❤ Kar ❤