JJ and Blue-eyes – the Fundamental Coffee Date

 

In my generation, when you went out on a date, it was not necessarily consistent that you went for a drink or a beer or whatever. There was one exception to this rule, and that was the frat rats, which couldn’t wait to get smashed out of their gourds. Although I was over 21, I really didn’t drink. Maybe the occasional beer, but one brew was usually accompanied by a headache. Being realistic, I thought why should I pay $.50 to get a headache? Blue-eyes was underage, so that eliminated the “going out for a beer” question. Her being from Wisconsin, I should’ve known that she likely knew more about beer than I did, but she never made mention of it. Mix that with the bowling alley her family owned, and she was probably weaned on Miller High Life. Not knowing that fact probably saved me a lot of money, not to mention a few headaches.

Naturally, by this time I had given up the Friday night poker-pizza party. I was still working at the gas station and likely smelled like an oil rig, despite numerous showers. I think the petroleum products had permeated my body. On one occasion, as we were driving to get coffee or whatever, she stated “Gee, I smell gasoline!” I explained what the problem was and her question was “How much money did they pay you for this?” I told her what I got an hour, and that the only side benefit was I was able to get all the gas I could drink for free, but not for my little TR-3. In reality, the guy I work for was so cheap he wouldn’t even give his employees a discount, but of course, at that point gas cost about $.60 a gallon. Her only comment was “that sure isn’t much money.”  I said something about the intelligence level required being close to zero, and I got the impression that she felt I fit right in. No big deal. She offered to pay for the coffee. I let her!

After coffee, she commented “The place I work for is looking for a couple of guys to come in and help out – especially on Friday nights with their teen dance.” Naturally, I asked her what it paid and was rather chagrin to find out that it was three times my current hourly wage. Without showing too much excitement, I gushed “I’ll take the job!” After the fact, I discovered that she was also involved in the Friday night teen dance debacle. Had I known that, I would’ve done it for free. Anyway, I got the job.

That evening ended my career in the petroleum industry, and so began my career in monitoring the conduct of the leaders of the next generation. This job was so great, I kept it through the balance of my university experience. I knew I was destined for management when the next year I was named Director of Teen Activities. No raise, just the title. Chauvinism personified! This really impressed Blue-eyes, or so I thought. I think in reality, it kind of pissed her off because she was more qualified. Ms. California wasn’t happy either, both because she had been there for approximately 2 years and was a Recreation Major. I always wondered about the curriculum for that major, and had a number of rather malicious thoughts.

Prior to my involvement with the teen dance (which I referred to as the local bomb throwers weekly organizational meeting), I had paid little attention to that generations rather raucous music. I wondered how you could possibly dance to this “noise.”  We didn’t have to tell these kids not dance so close because they never touched each other while they were working up this huge sweat. I had always thought the Mashed Potato was something you ate, the Twist had to do with pretzels and the Monkey Jump with something associated with the zoo or possibly Tarzan. This was a whole new world, filled with early-stage teenie-boppers gyrating to music that hurt my ears and gave me a headache worse than beer. I was tempted to ask for hazardous duty pay, but then realized as a member of management, it was part of my job responsibility.

Naturally, on Fridays since we were both going to work at the same place and time, we had to ride together and sometimes were accompanied by the soon-to-be Miss California. When Ms. California was not going, we took my car, but often Blue-eyes would insist on driving her 1951 Chevy, which frankly scared the living hell out of me because her idea of 25 miles/hour was really 40 miles/hour and for me, excruciatingly fearful. She was a good driver, but had a lead foot, and the yellow light meant “let’s go faster.” She likely had to have a new clutch put in the Chevy every 5,000 miles. This need for speed was true her entire life, but the only tickets I know of that she ever got were for parking. All of our daughters have inherited this particular speed gene.

As a something of a side note, “Ms. California” dated my roommate for a while and some years back I ran into him on an airplane and asked whatever happened to so-and-so, as well as “Ms. California?” I knew that she went to the finals and came in third or fourth. I mentioned that I had seen her on TV doing an ad for toothpaste or some such thing. He said that he understood she married a dentist and had 24 kids or some number like that. I’m sure he was exaggerating.

It wasn’t always just a cup of coffee or lousy pizza, although every once in a while I would spring for a pitcher of beer as we got to know the little Italian couple that owned a really great pizza restaurant. Friday work responsibilities usually ended at 8:30 when the teenyboppers had to go home. We would often go out to get a pizza, and every once in a while I would spring for a steak dinner at a place that can only be classified as a real dump. But the facts are, they had extremely good steak dinners for $2.95, which was called a club steak, and you got a baked potato and a nice salad. The food was actually very good, and again we got to know the people who owned the place and became somewhat regulars. If Ms. California was with us, my roomie would come and we would spring for dinner. Last of the big spenders! This lasted for about two years, but unfortunately this little dive was right in the way of a freeway project, and it disappeared from the face the earth.

As a side note, many years later we went to a concert, and lo and behold there was another dive with the same name. So we stopped in and discovered that it had been the same owners, and they had relocated in this really raunchy area near the auditorium. The original lady owner had just recently passed away, and I mentioned to the waiter that I used to work for them as a bouncer back in the late 50s. We got a free drink and talked a lot about some of the characters that used to hang around the old location. It was something like a forerunner to that TV show called “Cheers,” but without a real fat accountant or a psychotic Postal Service employee. Fortunately, I never had to bounce anybody, because I was a pretty big guy and usually people would behave once we had a little talk.

The more we dated, the more intimidating Blue-eyes became. I discovered that she had been the head majorette while attending UCLA, and she demonstrated her skills at baton twirling. I guess that’s where the great legs came from – all that marching around. She had also been in three or four Rose Bowl parades and had basically given lessons to young would-be majorettes. One time we were talking about music and I disclosed that I could play a horn, trumpet and trombone, but had given it up because I split my lip and could never get the muscle to perform as it should. The end of my great musical career. Ha! After I told her this, she got up from her couch went into the bedroom and came out playing a really fantastic clarinet. She said she’d been taking lessons for about 10 years, and frankly she was very good.

Blue-eyes was a hell of an athlete when she was younger. As a high school kid she had played girls’ softball and had played women’s softball for her two years at UCLA. She was a shortstop, had a great arm and hit the ball a ton. During this semi-beginning of our relationship, I began to wonder if there was anything that she couldn’t do, when I discovered inadvertently that she had been a bathing suit model for a company called Rosemary Reed down in Southern California. Later, we took up tennis and she was an excellent player, albeit noncompetitive. To her, tennis was a social game and she didn’t really care if she won or lost, except when she played singles with me – which of course took on aspects of World War II. She regularly beat me because she had a wicked slice curve serve and I couldn’t hit it. It’s a good thing we didn’t play for money, because if we had, I’d have been totally broke. Having my ego shattered was pricey enough!

I began to spend more time at her apartment than I did in my luxurious dwellings in the old Victorian tear-down that I lived in – likely to the chagrin of her two roommates. Their dog’s name was Kim, and unfortunately he got out once too often. Being the good scout, I cruised the campus neighborhood for the next two or three days trying to find the dog, but no luck. It wasn’t tagged, so I assume it either got picked up by some other students or the pound, although I did leave a description of the dog. The only picture they had of this little beast was with a cast on its leg while it was still a puppy. Blue-eyes and her roommates were devastated. At least I endeared myself to her roommates and they were willing to put up with my constant visiting. Little did I know that runaway dogs would play a role throughout our relationship. Naturally, this was when I was doing anything I could to ingratiate myself with this Blue-eyed beauty. As it turned out, I didn’t really have to do this Sir Lancelot bit. It turned out old Blue-eyes really liked me. That’s when she first started calling me “weird.”

After well over two years of doing our Friday stuff with the teenyboppers, me hanging around her apartment, cheap dinners and a lot of conversations, we got engaged. I don’t remember who proposed to whom – right!  But in the final analysis, I gave her an engagement ring and life began from that point forward. That summer, when she returned to Southern California, I went down there, got an apartment and was working two jobs to try to make enough money to support myself for the next school year, which was my last year.

She still needed to finish another semester to get her State Certificate for working with the handicapped. Every so often she would comment that dating me made her “more than qualified for anything that the state could throw at her regarding handling the handicapped.” I think she was being a little negative. I would see her on most weekends and we would spend time at the beach, swimming or just bagging rays, wandering around Knott’s Berry Farm and Disneyland, to which she had free passes – however, I avoided any attempts on her part to get me to go bowling. We went together for almost 2 years, and in June of 1960, when I allegedly graduated, we got married. I was almost 25 and she was 22, older than most single persons of our generation.

Moral of the story – Sometimes things that look too good to be true, really are.

Enter Blue-eyes

Like most guys of my generation, I had a military obligation. For a period of better than four years, I gave up my constitutional rights to be a proud protector of our sovereign nation. During the latter part of my career I was stationed near a little town called Carlsbad in Southern California. I’m proud of my service, and if you check the history books during the mid-50s, you’ll note that none of our national enemies ever got past Carlsbad.

Now be patient! There’s a rational reason for this preamble.

Part of the routine for one’s departure from this indentured servitude was called a “pre-separation medical exam.” This involves a so-called medical examination to determine if you’re physically fit and mentally prepared to be released into normal society. Also, to determine if I was physically acceptable to continue as a reservist, which was ridiculous because by law I had an additional four-year obligation, whether I wanted to do it or not. I think I probably provoked the psychological portion of this dissemination by requesting that this reserve obligation be transferred to the Waves. For those of you who don’t know what that is, it’s the female branch of the Navy. Some of my later friends and professional associates suspect I flunked the psychological portion of this examination. Over the years I think this was a paramount consideration in the relationship with Blue-eyes, however she stuck with me in spite of my abnormal behaviors.

The psychiatrist doing this portion of the evaluation showed me a bunch of ink blotches on cards and asked me what they reminded me of. Just to pull his chain, I told him they all had to do with something sexual. His response was that I had a really dirty mind. I told him I didn’t understand that comment because he was the one with the porno. That comment ended the psychological portion of the examination.

Part of this physical exam was similar to what you do to a horse, and that was to check out my teeth. The guy that did this was part of the medical team and a dental assistant. I think one of his comments was that my teeth were in good condition, however my gums were shot, and that I should consider having my teeth floated, whatever the hell that meant. I later found out that’s what you do to a horse, and you would know this if you read my story about a free horse named Dickens.

During that period, I spent very little time anywhere near my hometown. By the time I did return, I was shocked and somewhat disoriented at the massive changes and growth of this little semi-agricultural community. During my tenure in the military, I had taken numerous correspondence courses and had most of my lower division general education requirements out of the way. I thought about jumping right into the four-year college of choice and then decided I needed to try to get acclimated to the concept of study. I also needed some time to learn how to be a civilian again, not to mention seeking the companionship of the opposite sex. Like in chasing skirts.

I came to the stark realization that my study habits were nonexistent, and it took me a full semester at a junior college to develop some marginal skills. Further, I was not doing all that great in the pursuit and attempts at attracting members of the opposite gender.

Most of my friends had either moved or were married. I had a couple of buddies left over from the military that were going to the same college, and I eventually moved with them into this ramshackle Victorian house within walking distance of the campus. I had to get a part-time job because I was attempting to survive on my veterans benefits, which was next to impossible. Unfortunately, the VA had a habit of being late with payment checks, and I was living on a marginal cash flow basis.

My job at a gas station required that I’d be available during the Friday day shift and I usually got off work at around four. My two buddies had a friend living in another apartment and we had scheduled a permanent late-afternoon poker, pizza and beer party. I didn’t drink beer, but did take home the most money. This was nickel and dime stuff, so there wasn’t much chance that I was going to get rich or find a new vocation. On one of these occasions at the apartment complex, I was headed up to the poker game and ran into a guy coming down the stairs, and lo and behold it was the dental technician that had checked out my teeth. His name was Bob, and we got into a conversation. I told him I was headed to the poker game, and it turns out that he was a friend of one of the guys who lived in that apartment. Strange set of life’s little coincidences. Bob was to play a role in my life for over the next 50 some years.

During one of these games, in trots Bob with two females in tow. They were dressed in shorts and had sweaters that said “Parks and Recreation,” with little whistles on a lanyard around their necks. Naturally, we stopped playing poker for a while to chit-chat with these two gorgeous young ladies. One of them was about 5-feet-nine, with real blonde hair, a great smile and the most sparkling China-blue eyes I had ever seen. She looks a lot like an actress named Abby Dalton. I really didn’t say much because I was too dumbstruck, and probably what little I did say was so nonsensical that it made me look like an idiot. The other gal was about the same in most respects, and as a side note ended up as Miss California the following year. That’s how gorgeous these two were.

A little while later, much to my chagrin they left after we ran out of pizza. We continued to play, however, I must admit that I was distracted. The facts are I had been taking out a couple of ladies and had a date that night to go to a movie or something to that effect. I really wasn’t quite that financially destitute and was driving around in a fully paid-for three-year-old TR-3. Keep in mind, I was by then almost 22, and was considered by some of the younger females as rather old, knowledge and worldly. This created a distinct disadvantage.

A couple of weeks later, I was headed to the poker game, and as I walked into the apartment complex I found this little tiny dog with a cast on one of his legs. I found the apartment manager and asked him if he knew who the dog belonged to. He said “Yeah, it belongs to the gals down in apartment number two.” So I trotted down there, doggie in hand and knocked on the door. Guess who answered? The blue-eyed beauty from the poker game visitation. Once I could control my drooling, I said “Is this your puppy?” She got real excited and said “Where did you find him?” I told her and she then thanked me and invited me in for a cup of coffee. I never made it to the poker game. We sat and talked for about an hour or so until her roommates came home. I found out she was a transfer student from UCLA and was a P.E. major, specializing in working with handicapped children. She had been born in a small town in Wisconsin and her family had migrated to the West Coast in the late 40s.

Naturally, I got her name and telephone number and said “I’ll give you a call if you’d like to go out some time.” She promptly told me that she had a boyfriend in Southern California, but she would go for coffee or maybe a pizza. I said “Great, I’ll give you a call,” but was somewhat disappointed and suspected that this event would never take place.

I tried calling her a couple of times, but she wasn’t home and I finally considered it as a lost cause. About two weeks after I had met her, during one of our Friday specials, in she walks with “Miss California” and begins to have a conversation with me and one of my roommates. I got the impression she was more interested in my roommate than me and was beginning to get relatively depressed. Finally, she looked at me and said “I thought you were going to call me!” I told her that I had tried a few times and she had not been there, and I didn’t leave a message. I suggested that we go get a pizza the following day. She said “Okay, I know this wonderful pizza restaurant fairly close by.” I told her I would pick her up, and she could show me where this place was. We talked for a few minutes and then she and her buddy left.

We went to pizza the next day and after we finished, it was still early and I suggested we go to a show or something. She asked me if I knew how to bowl. I told her that when I was a kid I used to set pins at one of the local bowling alleys, so I had some experience. When I was younger I thought I was pretty good and had a relatively solid average. I didn’t want to embarrass her by what I thought was my high skill-set at bowling.

So we went over to the local alley, got all the bowling paraphernalia and we proceeded to one of the lanes. I assumed she knew what going on because she didn’t just pick the first bowling ball, but rather sorted through a number of them until she found one she liked. I went first and got a split or whatever. It was her turn and I watched her and commented that she had great form. She thought I was talking about her approach, but candidly I had something else in mind.

She knew what she was doing. From that point on, I was relatively distracted because of her great form, as were the men on either side of the aisle. She beat me by about 10 pins, and as far as I was concerned that turned out fine. I didn’t want to humiliate her. The next game she shot 190 something and I didn’t get much better than my first game. The last game she shot was well over 200, and by then many of the other bowlers had stopped to watch her for her skills – as well as other things.

It turned out Blue-eyes had been a child prodigy. Back in Wisconsin her family had owned the local bowling alley, and by the time she was 12 she had shot three perfect games. She explained that she had what professionals call “a Brooklyn hook.” You figure it out. Like lots of kids with extraordinary skills, she lost interest when her family tried to pressure her into competitive bowling and she basically decided that the pressure part wasn’t fun, so she quit.

I took her back to the apartments and as we were walking to her door she told me not call next week because her boyfriend was coming up from Southern California. I was somewhat distraught at this news and also humiliated by having my ass handed to me at the bowling alley. I said something to the effect of “Okay! Maybe I’ll see you around!” and she said “That was fun,” and kissed me on the cheek, turned and went into her apartment. I figured that was that and chalked it up to another failure on my part with the opposite sex.

I didn’t call her that next week and quite frankly most of the week after. One day, I ran into Bob and he said “Hey, did that blonde get a hold of you?” I looked at him and by then I’m sure I was foaming at the mouth, stomping my feet while cautiously wondering what she wanted. I called her and we went to coffee the next day and she told me that she had broken up with her boyfriend. I’m sure I did a great job of containing my glee. I’m not sure, but I probably said something like “Gee, gosh? Would you like to go to a show?”

We began to date on a regular basis. More about Blue-eyes and the early stages later. She had some other rather extraordinary talents besides her bowling form.

Moral of the story, Never, never give up hope if you have a split, because maybe that pin will fall over by itself.

Blue-eyes and Cancer

If you’re looking for humor, then I don’t suggest you read this one, because it’s about indestructible Blue-eyes and cancer. It’s about my best friend, my love and spouse we lost to cancer not long ago. As a consequence, this has left a massive void in our family’s lives. So this is something of a catharsis and perhaps self-serving, but after some thought I came to the conclusion that it might help others who have suffered similar experiences caused by this frightful and devastating disease, or for that matter, any loss.

We have, and I say “have” intentionally, been married a long time, have a bunch of kids, grand-kids, and a lot of fun and many memories. Like all relationships, there are many trials and tribulations, but we always weathered through these and created a strong and continuing love, with respect and regard for each. Over time these evolved not only into the lifelong friendship, but deep love and understanding which, in my opinion, are absolutely necessary to make relationships work, especially marriage.

Blue-eyes and I are best buddies, confidants, soul-mates and lovers. It’s a wonderful combination. We would have our little fights, but always keep them fair and would always attempt to make up before the day was over. One of the important aspects of this was to not hold a grudge and to improve wherever possible. Sometimes we succeeded and sometimes not, but in the end we always worked out some form of compromise. Part of a continuing relationship is providing each other the necessary degree of privacy and space needed to protect our individuality. This, in our thinking was an important necessity for us, on an individual basis, to understand who we were without attempts to dominate each other’s life or thought processes. We still had our collective responsibilities as related to the marriage and relationship, and those were primary considerations, especially when you have a family.

If you have read some of the other things I’ve written about our family time together, then you’ll suspect what a tremendous personality and influence Blue-eyes brought to the relationship and our family and in reality, her world other than just our particular relationship. When she went back to work she began a career with a highly professional and demanding institution where egos were a dominant issue and competition for success extreme. She was involved in this career for over 25 years and was so highly respected and regarded that she developed a lifelong network of friends and associates who continued to maintain and nurture her as a friend and confidant.

She was one of the few people that it can truly be said – she had never met anyone that she didn’t like, and I suspect that this was because she treated all people with absolute respect and a huge degree of generosity. Even some who I considered completely unworthy. I can’t remember her saying anything negative about anybody on a really serious basis. Even when I expressed my opinion that certain people had taken advantage of her, she would just look at me with those blue eyes, smile and continue on. The facts are that it was their loss, not hers! I’m sure she thought about these events, but her positive view of the world and the people in it would always prevail. That was part of Blue-eyes’ basic personality, and it was absolutely true and not some phony ploy. She really didn’t know the meaning of the word phony and there was no pretense whatsoever in her personality. What you saw is what you got! This was a primary reason why I enjoyed seeing her every day! I still enjoy it!

The cancer happened fast and was a real and total shock! No cancer history in her family. She didn’t smoke, was a light social drinker – mostly wine – and watched her general diet. The only time that Blue-eyes went into the hospital was to have kids. One exception being a hip replacement some years back, likely caused by her being very active and an excellent athlete. She had been blessed with good health a majority of her life, with only some minor issues brought about by the normal aspects of aging. She was never one to bitch or complain about not feeling well, and if she didn’t feel real great she disguised it magnificently. Actually, after being around her for many years, I became tuned in and was aware of when she was less 100%, usually because she was not as quick to point out my idiosyncrasies.

The first signs of a possible major problem started rather innocuously. We were coming up on a big celebration and had attended parties of friends who had also had this event celebrated by a multitude of family and friends. After watching some of these, we decided that we would forgo this gala and be unavailable when this date arrived, informing the gang that we had long planned to be at our favorite retreat in Hawaii. Arrangements had been made well in advance, so we were all set to go!

However, about a month before our scheduled departure, Blue-eyes developed some digestive issues and was getting treatment. After a period of time it was clear she was not getting any better, as a matter of fact, worse. Her doctor arranged for an MRI because he suspected some form of intestinal blockage. Nobody seemed to be overly concerned! We, being her family, were naturally a little concerned even though the general prognosis was this was not a major issue and she would be back on her feet within a week. Blue-eyes and I discussed canceling the pending trip with the surgeon and were advised, much to my relief and worry that would be totally unnecessary. This was approximately two weeks before our scheduled departure.

She was scheduled for this minor surgery a few days later. By definition, no surgery is really minor, so the family was close at hand or on their way during this “procedure.” After the surgery was done she was sent to the recovery room and a number of us were waiting until we could see her. The surgeon came down the corridor, sat down, looked at us and said “it’s cancer.” It took a few minutes for the realization of what he had just said to sink in. We did not have to ask — he said “it’s terminal.” I was dumbfounded and too shocked to ask any questions. He informed us that it was stage IV, metastasized and spread throughout her lower intestinal tract. He had removed three large tumors from her intestine and could see many other smaller tumors.

The discussion at that point was the complete elimination of any surgical procedure to remove the cancer, and that at this stage chemotherapy was the only treatment available. Her form of cancer was so rare, one in 20 million, that there was no known treatment and the only recourse was to attempt the existing drug formulations used for colon cancer. His final comment when asked how much time — he told us “maybe three months!” And I do remember my thought at this point was this is a really bad dream and I would wake-up any minute. No, unfortunately this was real!

My emotions naturally caused me to totally quit thinking. I was completely lost in this devastating news. Blue-eyes was still in recovery and would not be allowed visitors for at least another two hours. The surgeon was extremely sensitive and clearly in a state of shock himself, and he asked the question “do you want to tell her or should I?” I don’t know exactly what I said, but I realized that I was a basket case and would not be able to tell her without totally losing it. Not that losing it was a bad thing, but my reaction and thought was that we need to be very strong at this point and demonstrate a positive attitude, regardless of the prognosis and status of the cancer. We agreed to meet two hours later, after she had been moved from recovery to another room. I went for a walk to be alone for some private time to be with my thoughts and my fear. It wasn’t grief at this point, more like abject terror! Perhaps wanting to be alone was unfair to the rest of the family, but at the same time I felt perhaps it was likely we all needed some private time.

We met just outside her room and went in to see her, followed shortly by the surgeon. She was propped up in bed with a bunch of pillows, her eyes sparkling with her fantastic smile and we all said “Hi” or some such thing. The surgeon then came in and she looked at him and said “Well, how am I doing?” This guy was a super winner! He explained in very gentle terms what the situation was, and the pending issues. His sensitivity was absolutely amazing. After he finished, Blue-eyes looked at me with little change in her expressions, smiled and said “Sounds like I’m in a little trouble!” I don’t think I said anything, probably just looked at her and nodded my head. Clearly, she took it better than the rest of us. After a few minutes I left, found a quiet place and totally lost it!

One of the gang came out and found me, indicating that the oncology specialist had showed up and they were discussing the pending procedures for chemo. Part of that is a minor incision to allow the treatment to be less intrusive by placing a device in the chest cavity. This meant some more minor surgery the next day, so she would remain in hospital until he was sure of no infections or other complications. It turned out that I had met the oncology physician during some non-medical meeting, and this set the potential relationship on a very positive and more personal basis. By now Blue-eyes was tired and went to sleep. She had the additional surgery the next day and came through it in flying colors.

We all spent the next few days in and out of visiting, and searching with our computers on the internet what this type of cancer was really all about. One of my daughters, who has numerous contacts in the medical field came back with the most pragmatic views and prognosis. It was not good! The mortality rate within the first six months was extremely high, regardless of treatment. To the best of my knowledge we kept this information to ourselves. During her stay in the hospital, the chemo people came, explained the technique, procedure and duration of each treatment, which was to take place every two weeks for the next six months, then some time off, and start over as necessary.

A few days later we picked up Blue-eyes and brought her home. She immediately went out into the garden and started doing her normal surveying of things that need to be done. The gang had to go back to work but was still, thankfully, close at hand. She would get tired rather easily – more from the complications of the surgery than the effects of the cancer. She wasn’t in any real pain, only discomfort from the incisions and this new device inserted into her chest. She never said a word about it but I could tell, and knew better than to mention it. She had a prescription for pain, but I don’t think she took the pills that much, if at all!

About a week later she began the chemo treatment, which is a rather deadly concoction of chemicals that, frankly, knocked the living hell out of her body. Because of these effects she decided to move into the family room and sleep on a very large comfortable couch, so that when she woke up at night she could watch TV or do whatever without waking me up. Typical Blue-eyes! That really didn’t work because I would go to bed about 9:30, wake up around 12:30, go out to the family room and curl up on the other couch. This got to be a routine and it was a good thing, because we would have long conversations in the middle of the night.

Blue-eyes was no dummy. I didn’t know it, but she got on her computer and had more information about what was going on than any of us did. Her attitude was still very positive and she continued to say “I’m going to beat this thing.” The first round of chemo was very successful in reducing the growth of this very aggressive cancer. After a short break, she started the second round however, the various signs from blood work indicated that the cancer was still extremely active. During the second round, the chemicals that were used to kill bad cells were beginning to kill many of the good cells, and this caused her physical condition to worsen. Although the growth of the tumor was somewhat abated, the toll on Blue-eyes’ body was not particularly good. She began to lose her appetite and had continuing intestinal discomfort, which unfortunately interrupted her ability to get any deep sleep. She was still extremely positive, had a galaxy of new friends at the treatment center and had the various professionals totally impressed with her attitude.

By now she was into over a year of survival where the initial prognosis was probably three months. Blue-eyes was one hell of a fighter and her attitude was “never, never give up!” Because of the physical distress caused by these chemical cocktails, it was decided to give her body a rest and begin additional treatment after 6 to 8 weeks. She went back in and the tests were done to determine the growth factors of the cancer and the results were disastrous. When she came home after this devastating news she basically said that it was over.

The oncologists, still somewhat positive, renewed the chemo treatment trying a slightly different chemical cocktail, but the tumor was out of control and continued its aggressive growth. The tumor was quite large and was causing extreme pressure on the lower bowel and had to be relieved by additional surgery. After that, she stayed in the hospital for well over a week, with continuous pain relief, hydration and intravenous feeding. One or more of the gang was with her all the time. I was physically and emotionally exhausted and was thankful that each of our gang was available.

By now the word got out to people other than the family, and it was a fantastic continuous array of phone calls and visitors and flowers and cards, and so much love. She had the time to have some extremely remarkable conversations with her professional friends as well as social friends. Right to the end of her cogent periods, she was facilitating contacts within her new-found medical friends and older associates that could assist in all types of programs. You could see her glowing after each and every conversation and how very important this was. Even our gang was brought in to assure that certain things happen to support these ideas and of course, I was delegated to follow-up.

Eventually she became less and less conscious, and even those conscious moments were less cogent. We all would sit with her and hold her hand until she would fall asleep. I stayed with her for as long as I could possibly physically and emotionally endure. She was dismissed to hospice and taken off of everything but the dosage for pain. She knew exactly what was happening and still smiled, and one of her comments was she wanted to be home and in her family room to look out on her patio. I assured her that all that was prepared and waiting for her to tell us how to rearrange things!

She came home and we still had many close friends as visitors for the next few days. However, time was getting short and now it became a private family issue. Prior to this, when she realized the end was near, she had given me instructions on the gifts that I was to buy for the grandchildren, specifically from her. One of the great things was that she was able to see them open these presents and their reactions. Once again, those bright blue eyes sparkled and her smile was totally complete. The whole family came together at her bedside, not to say goodbye but rather to tell how much we loved her. It’s very hard to write this, but wonderful to remember. After this, Blue-eyes and I had a brief conversation before she drifted off to sleep. She smiled and I kissed her and said “Goodnight,” little knowing that it was our last conversation. She never woke up again and in the less than two days later, died in her sleep. Her crew was there with her and she knew it, and left us with her sparkling smile and a lifelong memory of those marvelous blue eyes.

In many general conversations about death, you hear people say “when I go I just want to go quick – sudden death!” If there’s uncontrolled pain or other quality-of-life issues, then perhaps this is a valid consideration. As an afterthought, I have some very strong doubts about that. I have some friends who lost loved ones on a sudden death basis and I think it possible that they lost some very important opportunities to do and say things to those loved ones, that unfortunately go undone and unsaid.

Blue-eyes suffered little and I truly thanked God for at least a little more time. She was one tough cookie! She beat some long odds lasting those 16 months, principally because of an inner strength, and if there was any pain, she kept it to herself. Some of us could see this and it was extremely difficult, but her smile made our anxiety go away. All her friends and family had a final chance to talk, to reminisce and to love. I wouldn’t change that opportunity for anything that I can think of, unless it was to see her once again!

I once read a poem about someone who had died and was basically telling their partner “I’ve really not gone away, you just can’t see me!” For me this is true. Blue-eyes is still here, and I see her each and every day in my mind and in what we built together. One of her last comments was “We did good, didn’t we?” My response was “You did good, I just helped along the way.” I thought something inside me was dying but then realized that wasn’t true, because her life is inside me and it is a living thing. There are some lines from lyrics written years ago by Don McLean that have often come to my mind recently, “And for the first time I’ve been seeing all those things I’d never notice, without you. And for the first time I’m discovering the things I used to treasure, about you.”

She had always stated that she wanted no memorial or any kind of “celebration.” I figured I had one last chance to attempt to defy her pronouncements, and we went ahead and did both. It was a good thing, for a lot of people got together and talked about Blue-eyes, and this created a perpetual legacy. She is still alive in the minds of those people and many others, “they just can’t see her.”

At the memorial I was supposed to read something that I had written, probably from some thing in my head, but frankly was incapable of doing this. It was, “If there was ever a beauty in this world which one must trust, then this is but a dream of her and then one must trust in that love alone and accept the fact that the price of that love is grief!“

I grieve, each and every day, but at the same time she and I are still laughing together and will for eternity, so she is still here. That is the important stuff of life!

I intend to keep writing about our family, our lives and about her, because that way I know she and I can laugh together, even though I can’t see her. I will still hear her saying, “You know, you’re really weird, but I love you anyway.”

She did good!