Epilogue to a life well lived

  My sister Barbara was a loving, spirited, and cherished part of my life until just a short few months ago, when a long-healed cancer metastasized and re-appeared, dragging her down much faster than any of us could quite imagine or understand.  But I do not choose to write about that process; rather I wish to celebrate her life and the brilliance of her expiring, like a meteor’s final vivid flame across the evening sky. 

Barbara had a tender-hearted love for animals, and volunteered at the Humane Society, the San Diego Zoo, and other animal care facilities.  She always had a playful sense of humor; she loved water-fights and often had a loaded water-pistol concealed somewhere about her person.  She loved card games like bridge, canasta, pinochle, hearts, and spades, and she played with an exuberant recklessness, bidding not to win but to sustain adventure and excitement.  She loved to go down in glorious defeat almost as much as she loved to score big on a reckless bid – and she got as much pleasure out of another player’s unexpected big score (or spectacular loss) as her own.  She loved martinis and, in summer, gin and tonic – a ritual part of every visit.  Our nephew John was also quite close to her, and he, like I, enjoyed sharing a gin drink with her:  Whenever one of us was present to fix a gin and tonic for her she always wanted a small splash of gin at the top of the glass after the tonic was poured. 

Summer afternoons often involved a croquet game, also played with reckless abandon.  If she managed to bump her ball into an opponent’s ball you could expect it to end up in the farthest corner of the yard, and if an opponent struck hers, she expected no less in return.  When we were younger, beach vacations always included body-surfing in the shore-break, an hour or more at a session, followed by an hour or more of intense shivering as we overcame hypothermia.  When a friend introduced us to the twin marvels of boogie-boards and wet-suits, she took to that sport with the same ecstatic enthusiasm.  

Barbara was an avid reader and a rather choosy movie fan.  Before she retired,she had a long career, first as a school librarian then as a middle-school teacher.  Her combination of high standards with a wicked sense of humor made her a perfect fit for seventh grade English.  Her favorite book and movie was The Princess Bride – a Christmas season staple.  

        Barbara broke her foot about nine months ago; at first it started healing, but in the early part of this year she began to feel a combination of pain and lack of energy that was quite unusual for her.  After a couple of months of increasing pain, she realized the old cancer had come back, and she began a series of attempts to get a CAT or MRI scan to confirm her suspicions, so she could make some necessary health care decisions.  Before she could get a scan scheduled, she broke her femur and was taken to the hospital, where each test showed more spread of the disease into bones, muscle and lymph glands. Treatment would be painful and minimally effective so she rejected any treatment except morphine to alleviate the pain.  

My wife and I were visiting John and his wife when we learned about the diagnosis, and that Barbara was at home, in hospice care, with only our other sister Alice, Barbara’s husband Monte, and their two daughters physically present.  On the second day of the visit, we got a text from Ellen, one of Barbara’s daughters, suggesting that we film ourselves toasting Barbara with a gin and tonic, which we did, making wry jokes about it to help replace the tears with laughter and smiles.  We sent it to Ellen, and thirty minutes later received a video of Barbara toasting us back with what she described as “a very weak G&T – but better than none at all!”  Her two grand-children came that same afternoon, and she surprised them with a water-pistol, hidden under a blanket.  Her other daughter, Sarah, read The Princess Bride to her.  We later learned that she had a difficult night, never returned to complete consciousness, and died the following afternoon.  She left strict instructions – no funeral, but a party or series of parties, which were to include croquet, water-fights, and gin and tonics.  

As our nephew John expressed it, Barbara died as she had lived:  with exuberance, wit, and a zest for living every moment fully.  She made her final days a gift for all of us, and that is what I choose to celebrate here.  It is grievous to lose the companionship of one’s youngest sister and life-long friend, but it is glorious to have these final memories to complete and harmonize with a life-time of memories.  Every gin and tonic and every martini that I have for the rest of life will be a toast to her, to a life well-lived – a life ended far too early, but ended with generosity, wit, and grace.