I didn’t know it would be our last real conversation. I wish now that I’d taken note last week of every word, paid more attention to the sunlight falling across the bed, the single rose in the vase, the light in her eyes, the smile she offered as I kissed her good-bye and promised I would be with her again on Tuesday. “What are you coming down for,” she asked, as she always did when I told her what day I’d be back. For once — after months of manufacturing haircuts and book group meetings and pedicures as “legitimate” reasons for me to make the three-hour round trip from my new town to my old one — I simply told her the truth: “I’m coming to see you.”
I do remember this. As I left the room, she told me to go home and have a wonderful weekend with my son Henry, on break from college for three days. “There is so, so much goodness in the world,” she said, uncharacteristically insistent. “So much goodness.”
For the first time since I began to write in this space over a year ago, I find myself this morning, sitting in my kitchen, at a complete loss for what to say. Early Saturday morning, my dear friend Diane passed away. (Even typing these words gives me pause — I hear her voice in my head admonishing, “don’t say ‘after a long battle with cancer!’” Ok, dear, I won’t say that.) I have no words yet for what I feel, for where I’ve been, for the sadness, the loss, the hole that is left in the place where just a few short days ago a vibrant heart still beat.
A month or so ago, my friend Karen Maezen Miller said, “You know, when the time comes, everything will be exactly as it is meant to be.” I held on to those words all through these last days, and found them to be true. Those of us who were meant to be there were there. Food appeared on the table, friends from near and far appeared at Diane’s bedside, the new puppy peed on the floor, the teenagers came and went, poems were read aloud, wine was poured, tears were shed, fires were lit, sheets were changed and dishes were washed. There was laughter, even in the midst of great sadness. Above all, there was love–unconditional, infinite, all powerful.
Death and life, one inextricable from the other. What I know for sure now is that a heart can accommodate both, a home can accommodate both, a family can accommodate both. Last week, with love and instinct to guide us, Diane’s family and dear friends transformed an upstairs bedroom into a sacred space. And each of us who were blessed to abide there for a while soon found our own fears transformed as well. We may not know what to expect from death, or whether we are truly up to the task we’ve taken on when we promise to stay near. And then, having made clear our intention to be present come what may, we find that even in our most challenging transitions, we do know what to do. Our hearts tell us how to make love visible. Our hands know, without being taught, how to soothe a brow, change a sick bed, tend a body. Dying is hard physical work. And, despite the most attentive ministrations, life’s final stages are not always beautiful. To be human, it seems, is to suffer and to pray for an end to suffering. And then, in life’s final moments, there is peace, and grace, and even, for one brief instant, a glimpse of the great mystery beyond this earthly realm.
Returning from this vigil, taking up residence in my own house again, I’m not quite sure what to do with this new knowledge. I do know, beyond a doubt, that Diane was right: There is so much goodness in the world, so much goodness even in the most wrenching circumstances. But at the moment I’m tired, and sad, and raw. A bit in awe, still, of what I’ve seen and lived and learned over the course of this last week. It feels tender yet, this place of grief. So I find my way back into the mundane one step at a time. I am grateful to my own dear husband, for drawing me a hot bath, putting me to bed, folding the laundry and loving me back into our life together. I bring Tylenol to Jack, who is home from school with a cold. I make corn chowder, search the garden for a few last blossoms, and wonder again and again, “what now?”
Katrina,
These beautiful, holy words seem to contain both immense stillness and a deep searching … and that is what it seems this last little while has been about, at least as I see it from my great remove. There is an echoing sadness that will probably never fully dissipate – I can only imagine, of course, and I don't mean to imply that I understand. But I can sense the whole you cite in every sentence you write. I am sending you love – and rest – from here. And I know Diane is, of this I am certain, in a place of both love and rest.
xox
I'm so sorry for your loss, and admire your strength and ability to express the grief, the void, and the beauty that can still be found in trying times. A wonderful tribute to your friend.
I am at a loss of words as to what to write in response to your beautiful and loving post….except, thank you. Thank you for sharing such a holy and sacred time.
Katrina,
We met only briefly at the event you and Karen held in Boston. I am so very sorry for your loss and for the hardships in this part of your journey. Your words have, once again, moved me to tears over the loss of a person I've never met. It is the universal nature of your loss and grief that strikes a chord in my heart and the hearts of so many others.
I do not have any answers or words that might bring comfort, but I will think of you and Diane. I will take a moment to hold in my own heart a sense of the friendship you shared and the love that will keep that bond vibrant long beyond this parting.
Katrina, I feel blessed and privileged to read these words. What an honor you do to Diane's journey. Thank you for sharing with us your reflections on the mixed company of life and death. I will hold you in my thoughts and prayers today.
Beautiful … just beautiful Katrina.
I am sorry for your loss …
I am so glad I have found you… your words are soothing, healing.. understanding of the human condition…and honest. I'm so sorry for your loss –
So beautifully written. So true. I witnessed my stepdad pass through after a long illness this year, now another dear friend is terminal. I did not realize how much these experiences change us – both the process and the meeting of people like hospice workers, who actually choose to walk that final mile with people. I feel lucky to have had the chance to learn from their grace.
You and Diane have been in my thoughts the last few days…
Thank you for sharing this journey of friendship, and love, and life.
I am so sorry for your loss, but grateful for the lessons a beautiful life can teach.
such beautiful words though I wouldn't expect anything else.
i'm so sorry for your loss, no words can be enough.
Katrina, In every post you remind me how precious life is. My thoughts are with you in this time of mourning, Lisa
Wow. What a beautiful piece. I can just feel your grief. So sorry that you lost a dear friend, but it sounds like her last days were very meaningful.
Bless you.
Loving thoughts for you, and yours.
I send you much love and I thank you for sharing this with me.
My prayers are with you and yours
Blessings Carrie-anne
Katrina,
Lindsey has spoken so highly of you and your writing and here I am seeing just why. You have captured something here; a wrenching universality. I have been there at the side of the bed. And I have been here in this precarious aftermath when not much seems to make sense. Thank you for sharing your experience, and for inspiring my post today. http://www.ivyleagueinsecurities.com/2010/10/never-alone/
I very much look forward to reading more of your work. And I am so sorry for your incredible loss.
Aidan
Oh Katrina.
I feel my heart sits heavy with contradiction–brimming with sadness while lightened with love and hope. Your grace and honesty bridge that which feels contradictory…and enlightens me to the power of the dichotomy that lives in each moment.
Sending love and a hugs,
Denise (A regular person) xo
Diane was correct – there IS so much goodness in the world. It is a gift that we must enhance by our words and actions as we get another shot at it when we wake up each day. Diane is in a better place, to be sure, but the effect of her own goodness will be carried forward by those who were lucky enough to have been touched by her.
You have had so much loss as of late, Katrina. My deepest sympathies and prayers as you begin to move forward.
Denise
May your memories and the LOVE that was real hold you safe as you grieve.
Katrina
I am so sorry to learn of the loss of your dear friend. I thank you, along with all those who have posted comments before and after me, for sharing your thoughts, your words during a time when words are heavy and difficult.
I read your post very early this morning, as the light was coming through a blanket of clouds. The trees were all a glow in their fall leaves. On my walk, I thought of your friend passing during this season. Goodness is all around us, even in times of great trial. I hold you, and those who have surrounded Diane, in my heart, my thoughts, and my prayers.
Hi Katrina,'
I found you through Aidan's blog. This past August marked the 12th anniversary of the death of my friend 'D.' He was 29 when he died. I have blogged about him several times and found the experience to be exceptionally cathartic. It hasn't ever taken away the pain or sense of loss but it has helped to make his absence feel less palpable.
I hope that you find the same comfort writing about Diane. I am very sorry for your loss.
In our culture it's difficult to die gracefully. What a gift you were able to give your friend at the end of her life in helping her to die with grace. But it still doesn't take away the pain of loss. I'm so sorry.
I knew you would find your way to the blog, to put out there something about this experience. Diane's death touched so many, through your words alone. I watched my father-in-law fight his last months of a battle with cancer, just three months after I married his son. It was not always beautiful. Sometimes it was horrific, and painful, and confusing and hard. But my new husband and I were changed forever, having been a part of it together.
Hugs to you, as you figure out how to file this in your life experiences and move on to the next lesson.
Judy
justonefoot.blogspot.com
"Above all, there was love–unconditional, infinite, all powerful." Your words evoke my tears, of both empathy and gratitude.
And Diane's words about goodness in the world echo a few of Shakespeare's words as well:
Sweet are the uses of adversity,
Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous,
Wears yet a precious jewel in his head;
And this our life, exempt from public haunt,
Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,
Sermons in stones, and good in every thing.
Thank you, Katrina. For these beautiful thoughts and words. For everything.
I cried today over the words you wrote and the fear it triggered inside of me because my father is just beginning to learn the scope of his cancer and prepare to fight it. I want to thank you for your earlier mention of the poet Rilke. I read him last night and it helped me to shape my fears into words. They can be found here: http://theslowcookedsentence.blogspot.com/2010/10/we-are-stardust-we-are-golden-or-rilkes.html
Thank you for sharing this with us, Katrina. Thinking of you and Diane and all her friends.
Just found your blog today. That was a beautiful tribute to your friend. You brought the reader right in, and made us feel your every emotion.
Thank you, Cathy @ http://treatmenttalk.org
Being present with one who is taking the slow journey into death is truly a sacred experience. I nursed my mother in her last weeks in our home earlier this year. It was the saddest but most precious gift of all. And now, like you, I have a close friend, just 42 and with 3 schoolage children, walking that path as well. Gazing steadily at horror,balancing on the precipice of despair, and just keeping on, trusting that this is all still a part of an ultimately beautiful picture.
I just found your blog today. I am on Chapter 11 of your book, and I'm enjoying it so much! I've been going through the same things. My oldest son is in college and my second son is in his senior year of high school (I also have 3 younger children). My 14 yo son has long hair (which I've learned to like) and plays that screemo music that I can't stand. I really connected with what you wrote about getting to know, and loving the person you were when you were younger. I also live in NewHampshire! We'll it's wonderful to "meet" you! I've made a link to your blog on mine.
I'm so sorry about your friend. That must be so hard.
Dear Katrina.
Today is the day of Diane's service, and I came back to read your moving words both to seek comfort for what I know will be a difficult day and to celebrate Diane and the mystery and force of love that you so beautifully conveyed. Thank you so much for your abiding friendship to Diane and for being able, by your presence with her during her difficult journey, to bring her comfort, understanding, compassion, laughter, and most of love the truly indescribable power of love that transcends all.
I hope I see you today to be able to thank you in person.
Dear Katrina.
Today is the day of Diane's service, and I came back to read your moving words both to seek comfort for what I know will be a difficult day and to celebrate Diane and the mystery and force of love that you so beautifully conveyed. Thank you so much for your abiding friendship to Diane and for being able, by your presence with her during her difficult journey, to bring her comfort, understanding, compassion, laughter, and most of love the truly indescribable power of love that transcends all.
I hope I see you today to be able to thank you in person.