Reconfirming one's life in approach to death
Pardon the seriousness I greet you with this morning, but a question weighs heavily on my mind: Would I rather die unexpectedly or have advance notice?
My sister-in-law Susan found herself in the latter category last year when she was diagnosed with leukemia. Crazy thing was, her disease was caused by treatments to overcome breast cancer 20-plus years earlier. The renewed lease on life she gained back in the 1980s apparently had an expiration date. Doctors informed my oldest brother's wife last April that even with aggressive therapy, including radiation and chemo, her days were numbered. When Tom called the family to deliver the news, he said Susan had but mere months to live.
There's nothing fair about anybody receiving such a prognosis. In this case, it was cruel. For the longest time, Tom was the seemingly confirmed bachelor of our family. Susan, or "Suki" as she was called ever since her oldest nephew couldn't pronounce her name as a child, was the confirmed bachelorette of her family. While all their brothers and sisters were getting married at least once, sometimes twice, Tom and Suki remained single. They did not meet until later in life.
Both long played caretaker roles, accepting responsibilities beyond their years to ensure their siblings -- and, later, parents -- did not go without. I'm sure I have no comprehension of the level of support I received directly because of my oldest brother, but a few examples come to mind. When I took an interest in skiing, Tom was the one who bought my boots, poles, skis and bindings. The basketball goal hung on the barn was to be replaced with a complete backboard until it melted in an accidental fire. Tom purchased it because of my athletic aspirations. One winter, all six of us kids were outfitted with new heavy coats because of him.
The guy just stepped in to fill any gaps my hard-working yet under-compensated parents faced. That's the way he was. And is to this day. The commitment to family pours straight from his heart.
Susan played a similar role in her family. When these two generous souls finally met in 1993, it appeared destiny brought them together.
While it might have been love at first sight for Tom, Susan had other ideas. Or perhaps she merely was playing the coy card. To hear Tom tell it, she turned him down the first two times he asked her out. Third time was a charm, as Suki had run out of excuses not to accept a date. Six weeks after that, he proposed. Another six weeks and they were married. A horse-drawn carriage delivered the newlyweds to their reception at the arts center my dad was running at the time.
It was obvious from the start Suki fit into the Lowry family. Head-strong and opinionated, she jumped right into the mix. There aren't many quiet gatherings of our clan. Never have been. Susan was not deterred. She assumed her place amid the laughter, heartache and craziness that has defined our lives.
Most of all, she brought a smile to Tom's heart I'd never seen before. And he to hers. If ever a couple was perfectly matched, it was Tom and Susan. The banker (Susan) and the bookstore owner (Tom) never missed an opportunity to enjoy each other's company in spite of their busy careers. They traveled the world. They cheered on her alma mater Michigan Wolverines, caught baseball games in Detroit and Chicago, and rarely missed the local high school team's football games. Tom was the mayor of Three Rivers for 12 years; Susan played the consummate first lady. They enjoyed sunsets and walks along the shores of Lake Michigan at her family's cottage. A good vintage Cabernet might even have been shared as they wound down their days. They collected antiques and relaxed in their immaculately adorned loft apartment in the heart of a downtown both were committed to rejuvenating. They shared a passion for music and good dinners.
They read, talked, did New York Times crosswords with pens, and laughed. They laughed a lot. Though they didn't have any children of their own, they might as well have been parents to the numerous nephews and nieces they called their own. Better role models were not to be found in the mentoring programs both got involved with.
So when the leukemia diagnosis was announced, it seemed grossly unjust. She was but 58, and they'd only been married 15 years.
In retrospect, their reaction might have been predicted. They skipped the denial, anger and grieving stages and went straight to acceptance. She went through the grueling treatments at the U of M Cancer Center and covered her head with beautiful scarves. When the rest of us struggled to convey our sorrow, she made sure our spirits were lifted. She might have been fearful inside, but she wasn't going to let anything stand in the way of her living. Even at her weakest, her lips formed smiles on a regular basis.
They made plans. Her bucket list included giving away all her belongings. This past Christmas, every female in both families received particularly meaningful jewelry from Suki's collection. She got all her financial affairs in order, forced my mom to make an appointment for a hearing aid, wrote her obituary notice, made a trip to Disney World and planned the celebration she wanted her cherished relatives and friends to experience.
She saw everybody who mattered in her life at least one more time. She ensured she met her brand-new niece (our own Sophia). A week and a half before she passed, Tom and Susan flew to Arizona to see my other older brother and his rather ill wife.
All the while, her physical body just kept getting slower while the pain intensified. She went on hospice a week before her death, yet kept up conversation, companionship and good humor almost to the end.
Susan died in Tom's arms -- at home -- on Feb. 23. The void I feel, the loss, the sad reality of never sharing another Ludington evening with my sister-in-law, leave me numb. And in awe of Tom, who made sure everybody had a good time at the celebration last weekend.
I miss and love you, Susan. And even in death, you continue to inspire.
For I still don't know if I want forewarning of my eventual demise. If that is what the fates determine, I wish for but half the dignity and grace Susan and Tom exhibited during the past few months. I know her rest shall be filled with peace.
Patrick Lowry is editor and
publisher of The Hays Daily News.