Murlene and John were always present at everything. They've been at every wedding, they've been part of every graduation, the birth of every child in our family. Officially, the connection is just that Murlene and my grandmother were friends. Oh, and they attended the same church. But the bonds were deeper than friendship. They may not be traceable on our family tree, but they are family.
John collapsed in church a couple months ago, and was taken to the hospital. They found a tumor in his lung. He's never smoked, never worked in an occupation that might lead one to think he had a high chance for lung cancer. Not that it matters, but we've come to associate lung cancer with smoking and coal miners and we forget that it's an insidious disease that strikes people even when they have no reason to suspect it. By the time this was found, it had already metastasized to the liver and there was a tumor encircling his pancreas as well.
They started chemo, but pneumonia set in a few weeks ago, and he was admitted to the hospital. My husband, by chance, was bringing in another patient to the same hospital when they were in the ER so he was there to offer Murlene some comfort. She told him that she needed a ramp, because John could no longer manage the steps at home, and Wes began making plans to build it for her.
Last week I went to see him in the hospital. I kissed him and chatted with Murlene and we told jokes. Murlene told me I shouldn't have come, because I went there straight from chemo, with my pump hooked up but I told her I felt so bad the days after chemo that I knew if I didn't come that day, I might not make it at all. I was right.
She walked me to the elevator after I kissed John goodbye and we talked for a moment about the ramp but when she looked in my eyes we both knew without saying that the chances of her ever really needing that ramp was small. I held her, and told her I loved her and that she needed only to call me, and I would be there. She said she knew, and then I left.
He died this morning at five am. His youngest daughter was at his side and held his hand. I've had a rough time in my life with father figures - the ones that were supposed to be there for me never were, and now I seem to be losing all the men I looked up to as a child. It doesn't seem right, or fair, that they are gone now.
He leaves behind two daughters and five grandchildren and many other family members who loved him. And many, many more people, like myself, who aren't his family in name, but still will miss him and mourn his passing.
Posts: 14428 | Registered: Aug 2001
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I know I've cried more in the last 10 years at the death of "like" family members more than at the death of family members.
Posts: 995 | Registered: May 2003
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(((hugs))) We recently lost one of those people, too. Barney used to put on light shows for us when we were kids, and was there at every birthday party growing up. He died of stomach cancer, which came on and metastasized fast and was detected too late to do much about it. He kept his humor until the end, though, joking about how much vomit could come out of a man who ate so little while on chemo, and he told my dad that he appreciated all the love he was able to feel from the people who now surrounded him. He said he was not afraid to die and was grateful for the good life he had had. He had no children, but was wonderful to all us children of his friends. He met Emma once or twice and amused her greatly. He truly did lead a loving life and I'm grateful to have known him.
Posts: 21182 | Registered: Sep 2004
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I'm sorry, Belle.
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I'm sorry.
