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Almost as soon as I learned that Susan had been taken to the Huntsman Institute, I knew that I would be asked to speak at her memorial service.  I incorrectly assumed that President Free would be doing the asking, and I knew I would have no problem telling him no and sticking to it.  I was going to suggest that he ask his wife, Maureen, to speak.  Last night Merril called and asked me to speak at her memorial.  How can you tell a grieving spouse no, you simply will not speak at his late wife's services?  This is not going to be easy.  I may just stand and cry for 8 of the 10 minutes he wants me to speak.  What can you do?

The last goodbye

I had a dear friend pass away this week.  It has been a particularly rough week.  She was only 59 years old -- a year and a half older than me.  Sometimes I feel really old, but most of the time, I just feel like me.  Having life remind me that I am mortal doesn't really frighten me, just a sober reminder.  Having said that, can I just say that cancer sucks?  They call it the loving disease because you have time to say goodbye.  For those of us who witness the progression of this insidious malady, I think we have a different view of it.  To watch someone literally wither away is devastating.  Susan was a force of nature.  I have never met anyone with so much energy, ability to get big things done, or positive influence on so many lives.  There was no task too big or complicated for her to tackle.  Except cancer.  I already miss her and my heart is literally broken.  The last time I saw her I was concerned about her condition, but I thought we had more time.  I was pretty casual with my goodbye that day.  You couldn't really hug her, she was just too fragile.  She was leaving in 2 days for a cruise that I thought would re-juvinate her.  The next day I was at her home doing some things she couldn't do for herself, but she was off at the outpatient lab getting a dose of chemo before her trip.  I left a note with a smiley face letting her know I had gotten everything done, telling her to have a wonderful trip, and that I would see her when she got back.  Now I know that that was to be the last goodbye.  Would I have changed anything if I had known?  Probably.  But I would have been just as sad as I am now and most likely could not have been able to express what was in my heart.  Susan knew I loved her by the things I did for her.  Making sure she had flowers to brighten her day from time to time, bringing her things I thought would entice her to eat, being the person she could say anything to and it not be repeated or criticized, doing what she needed to have done.  And, possibly that is the real lesson here.  Everytime we perform an act of kindness, and all help -- big or small is an act of kindness, we are putting our stamp on our goodbye.  It doesn't have to be big, it doesn't have to be eloquent, it just has to be from the heart, and we who are left behind need to remember that our crystal balls are a little cloudy and we did the best we could with the information we had.  Cancer still sucks.  I am still sad.  I still miss Susan.  But a smiley face on a yellow pad was probably OK for our last goodbye.