Going... Going...

Hallmark Corporation has completely ignored one of life’s guaranteed passages.

We’ve got welcome new baby cards; birthdays of every number - well, at least First Birthday, 21st, 30, 40... 100, etc.; wedding cards and even ‘congratulations on your divorce’ cards! You can buy mother’s and father’s day cards in English and in Spanish, graduation, anniversary, bon voyage, get well, retirement, and sympathy cards for the survivors after someone dear dies.

What we DON’T have is a card for the one who has been given a diagnosis and has to wait it out until Merciful Death finally grants peace to the sound-minded, tormented and tortured soul trapped in a dying body.

Here are some possiblities I might share with the card-designing “heart-ists.”

“Have a good death... wish I could be there with you, but I can’t stand to see you disintegrate... makes me              squeamish to be aware of my own mortality.”

“Sorry, you won’t be at the bridge games on Thursdays. We’ll miss you. Say, can we borrow your coffee urn?”

“Wow, bummer, dude! You can keep the $20 bucks you borrowed from me.”

“Sorry to hear of your decline. Before you’re too far gone, could you possibly please pay me back the money you owe me?”

“How unpleasant, you are sick... hope this poem does the trick... when you lay you down to sleep, pray the Lord to make it deep. If you croak before sun-up...  I’ll come by and feed your pup.”

No apologies. Macabre is as macabre does. Just in a weird mood.

We went east (Maryland) last Sunday through Tuesday to visit an aged and ailing auntie. At ninety six, she’s entitled to choose her window of exit, right?  Cancer is weakening her body, but her mind is sharp and clear as ever. She wishes someone would just end it for her. She is so done with life. She asks her doctor (not named Kevorkian) and sons for help to end it all. The son who is a lawyer says, “Sorry, Ma... it’s illegal.” She sighs deeply and with dignity sucks it up and stoically continues with her decline.

October two years ago, (photos) when we triangulated a trip to NY with another visit to Silver Spring, Maryland to see Aunt Esther, she was complaining that the orange tee-shirt her teacher wanted her to wear for the line-dance competition was a wretched shade of orange. She rolled her eyes - feigning disgust in a humorous way.

That trip, at her request, we took her to IHOP for breakfast. I asked the then spry 94 year old, “Aunt Esther, how is it that you keep so fit and pull so much enjoyment from life?”

She was pouring syrup on her pancake stack as she answered, “I think it’s because I watch what I eat, and never over-indulge.” At that moment, the lake of syrup, which she continued to pour all the while she was answering, completely filled her plate and was overflowing onto the table. Mark and I just giggled - and still do - to recall the dichotomy.

She is a roll model of grace, humor, dignity, compassion and living life to the fullest - if not dietary discretion.  “Aunt" Esther was best friends with my husband’s mother - from the time they were both teens in the Bronx. Esther and her husband Phill were very supportive when things were rocky for my mother-in-law, her three kids and (estranged) husband.

The last of the ‘old guard,’ Aunt Esther’s inevitable death marks the end of an era and brings up for us the loss of parental figures all over again. We plan to cry a lot.

Before flying, we had prepared a book for her: “The Book of (a very special) Esther” in which we posed open-ended questions for her to contemplate...

Recall growing up... What was it like to be in your family? What kind of sister were you?

What were your dreams and aspirations?

When you met your husband, how did you know he was the one for you?

Remember the first time you held each grand child?

How did you manage to hone your skills, be there for your children and Phil and

still keep the business running? 

And so, on it went.

She quite liked the book and began recollecting right then and there in her den during our first visit of three over two days. We had a fabulous Greek dinner with Aunt Esther’s two sons and their wives on Monday night. The waiter, who was accustomed to seeing their mom with them all, asked about Esther... he knew exactly how she always liked her Moussaka and salad.

We’re all losing someone special. 

All of us in the human family lucky enough to have loved deeply are bound to have our hearts lacerated by loss.

Waiting for the connecting flight from Vegas to home Tuesday night, it seemed fitting that the sunset was particularly gorgeous, drawn out and full of glory holes - where the sun streams through the holes in the clouds making artful (heart-ful?) beams - so distinct you could climb them to heaven.

Maybe that’s the Hallmark card... “May the sunset of your final days be as welcoming as the world was on the day you were born.”

(And may we learn to welcome our babies in as gentle a fashion as we allow our elders to depart! At this writing we’re not very good at either end!) 

A macabre sense of humor seems to run in our family. In 1989, when Mark’s dad was dying in Florida, we asked our daughters to help us make a card for Gran’pa Buddy. We had magazines and scissors and glue sticks on the dining room table. Nine year old Megan found some printed words in a slick ad that read, “Going, going... gone!” We all had a good laugh. It’s OK to laugh even when we’re grieving. It’s all part of the process.

With all the healing I’ve been privileged to witness over the years, I find that when it gets right down to that final layer of the onion... it’s all LOVE.  

Smooth Sailing to the Infinite Beyond, Auntie Esther.