her last words

On the first Tuesday in August I squished next to mom in her hospital bed. I threw my arms around her fragile body and we both started to cry. She looked down at me and said, “This is what we need to write about. This is what people need to know.” My mother passed on August 7th. She was 59 years old. 

By then, she was looking at days. Mom was no stranger to death sentences, but this one felt more like a date of release. We knew it was her time, but knowing this did not mean letting go of her life was easy. Mom was so loved. Her connections to this earth were deeply rooted and real. She LIVED everyday of her life and breathed love into all the spaces she occupied.

mamabear and padri as bbs

Her early life was fast and hard while her later life was filled with reflection, questions of purpose, and quiet moments. I know that she was not afraid of death. She was ready to accept the inevitable; that was her purpose for the last year. It was her connections here, and the love she felt that kept her alive. Mom hated feeling quieted by circumstance. She struggled with this for nine years. She lost bits of her brain, her body, her speech, and her balance. When cancer came knocking it took her ability to trike, walk, stand, bathe herself, swallow, and eventually breathe. 

Mom slept most of Tuesday until dinner rolled around. It was her favorite meal. She wanted to sit at the table and eat with us. By now her ability to swallow was disintegrating, and she inhaled most of her liquids. I could not stand the thought of her choking. Of course that woman was not going to let anyone tell her she could not drink wine. I watched her slowly pickup her glass and take a sip. Thinking about this now makes me roll my eyes and laugh, but at the time it sent me into a gasping, sobbing, and shaking panic attack. My mother could not die choking. The violent coughs that racked her body seemed seconds away from splitting her down the middle. Her body was bone collapsing on bone.

She was in limbo. One moment she was emphatically working to let go, and the next she was complaining about not getting enough food in her mouth to taste it. There was no difference between food and love to her. 

She was not afraid to die, but she was afraid to leave. It hurt her to think about the experiences she will miss: never holding my children, never growing old with dad, never having more crazy holidays with her family. I did not know what to tell her then because I could not predict how I would feel. I know now that she has not left. She is right here with me, always. She holds my hand as I fall asleep at night, she laughs with me when I make dinner, she dances around the house, she runs every road and trail that I do. Every gift that I give, and meal I make holds a piece of my mother. I have not lost her. She is in more places and more people than before. She is not contained by one body but is flooded through the universe. Her body contained her spirit and now she is free. 

mama, kaitlyn, and I

There are moments when I fall apart. I loved that woman with everything I had. I gave all of my energy to her. Learning to focus my energy elsewhere is hard. I am beyond grateful for the people that stand by me when I fall apart. Thank you for holding me up when my legs give out, thank you for sitting on the floor with me as I sob, thank you for listening & being patient. I am proud of every person that gives care to another, and every person that allows themself to be vulnerable. My mom embodied humility. She gave and allowed others to give. It was her true purpose. 

lol we cute

Living life should be filled with epic moments

Genevive had excess egg whites, so decided to make pavlova. I’ve never made it, I’ve never eaten it. It never interested me...egg whites whipped in to a meringue with fruit...not the first thing I would chose off a menu. But we are talking about Genevive ....famous for exploring the boundaries of her cooking. So now the uneventful dessert with a bit more effort  was elevated with a reduction of strawberries, cherries, sugar, amaretto, and almond extract..also homemade creme fraîche ,topped with more fresh fruit and toasted pistachios. Epic! Those moments only happen when you leave the safety of the middle; when you take risks. 

My brother is the Doctor Doolittle in the animal world. They love him. He has had several dogs over the years, and has the perfect set up for a dog..he lives in no mans land with his cows, owns a property improvement business that would allow him to keep his companion with him... and yet he is alone. When I ask him why he hasn’t gotten a dog...he says that he suffers too much heartache when they die. I think he forgot the years of joy and loyalty they offer. To me it’s worth testing the boundaries of my emotions . A person can not understand great joy without experiences great sorrow. That’s when you feel most alive.  We live in a world of impermanence. 

I was friends with a woman who was recently divorced. The sadness she felt after the divorce prevented her from opening her heart. The Dalia Lama says: “love and compassion are necessities not luxury. Without them humanity cannot survive.“ She died feeling alone.

Thanks to my crazy husband I’ve done things that were never on my radar. John loves to climb. When I met him I had done very little climbing, and never on ice. Please Before I knew it I was fully decked out in all the latest gear...crampons, ice axes, helmet, backpack, and the best technical clothing Patagonia made...what we were doing was not a place to be cheap. He taught me climbing technique. 

Many weekends we packed for the mountains . As I improved , I learned to love it. You would often find our car at Frankenstein cliff: a cascade. There, ice flows like frozen hair draped over the mountain. The route John liked was called Dracula’s tomb...you get the idea that these are not warm and fuzzy places. It was great training for Mt Washington. 

I was still a green climber, John had his eye on Huntington ravine, I—the naive climber said “sure”. We started at 7 in the morning only to stop for bagels. John has 3 loaded with cream cheese. I had 1 with jam. Just on the hike to the base whatever benefit I would garner from my breakfast was used up! 

John was getting our gear ready, and I was staring at monumental mountain that would swallow me whole. When you’re ice climbing there’s the lead climber (John) who sets the route with ice screws the second (me) follows and cleans the route. Until you summit, the descent is generally off to the side and steep through the woods. To my surprise it was mixed climbing (both rock and ice) something I’ve never done. With ice you have these razor sharp axes that penetrate the ice. Half way up the ice disappeared. I panicked and call to John , what in the world do I do now His response was; there is a small patch of moss put your pick into, It will hold you. A patch of moss... trust a patch of moss!? Sometimes you need blind faith. 

At that point the sun was setting and we were far from the top. When we summitted it was dark and getting colder. John decided the fastest way down Lion’s head trail was on our butts.. called glissade, gortex is amazingly slippery on ice. Now I’ve been on this trail in the summer. It’s curvy, there are drop offs. At this point I only saw what my headlamp was showing  me. John went first and showed me that I control my speed with the ice axe by dragging it into the snow. And then he was gone in a instant. So there I was alone , in the dark, on the most daunting mountains in the East. Panic? You betcha. Did not see John until the bottom. I was exhausted and starving. We still needed to hike out to the car. Half way there I collapsed ... and yes I sat in the snow and cried. John had to double back to find me. “So how’s the 1 bagel with jam serving you “ I had nothing left! We finally got to the car.... and didn’t speak the whole drive home. Did I think that I was too green to be on that route? Absolutely. Do I regret doing route with my husband.? Not at all. It was an epic day .... the route was called “damnation buttress “ Doesn’t that say it all!” That day meant so much to me… I have asked that some of my ashs be spread there

Going beyond your comfort zone is what makes life electrifying. 

Whether its in the kitchen, risking the eventual death of a pet, or with love or an adventure with your spouse. Those are the memorable moments.

I have been out of my comfort zone for years... open the bakery, triking, finally getting a therapist, blogging about very personal stuff . Each time I do, I am always grateful. It makes me a better person.

John is building a deck that can accommodate my needs. This is a custom deck for a comprimised wife. He know how much I love to be outside. I need my vitamin D. Everything he does is epic. And I am the beneficiary. 

Now I am dying. My abilities are shrinking. My approach to my death has not strayed far from the way I lived. I made the most of this process. I threw myself a party. I spent great evenings with great friends over great food. I marched forward into the lion’s den and faced my fate head on. It will be my last epic moment.

They are rescheduling the date of my death

It always starts with something small. In my case it was constipation (told you I would  be honest) the tumor that started it all grew which of course is causing problems. As a result, I had to go in for an X-ray. That revealed a new predator on my pelvic bone. This news sparked curiosity from my oncologists team. A CT  was done. Good to know where else the cancer is hiding. For me it give me a idea of how many blog posts I have left to write. I guess I get up to 6 more months for good behavior.... obviously they don’t know me😉

If only I was practicing gratitude at this age.

None of this news bothered me. Without expectations emotions take a back seat. It amazing how much more you can hear when your heart’s not racing, your palms aren’t sweating waiting for those words « your cured » or the words you « dread, the cancer has spread. « For both my sister and father, they chose harsh treatments and wanted to see the reward of their suffering. The anticipation of a scan was filled with hope and fear.  Hearing the word « hospice » meant the fight was over. For me there was no fight.  Hospice meant relief for my family. 

My death is like gaining weight. It creeps up on you and before you know it your pants dont fit. With cancer, the pants fall off. I feel like a pregant woman…. sick to my stomach, food and smells are different, I am achy, and exhausted all the time. But I can breathe.

I love my palliative care nurse. She is restoring my faith in the medical community. She listens and hears what I say, she is respectful. Her head is not buried behind her laptop.  I have come to understand what it means to be a good patient. It’s a team effort. Assuming that you doctor understands your body, accepting their words as gospel is a mistake. Make notes... I always forget something when I meet with a physician. If they aren’t a good fit... find someone else. My palliative care nurse looks right at me. I sense no ego from her, but compassion. I can start hospice whenever I wish. My mobility is increasingly challenging, so I don’t enjoy going out. I may start soon.

I find it interesting how people react to this news... it’s the half full, half empty response. For Genevive and me, it was good news, we were happy. From my mom there were tears and sadness. I had to remind her that technically I should be dead right now

Last night I dreamt about the death of George Floyd.  I don’t expect all of you to have death be on your mind as it is with me.  That wouldn’t be healthy. At some point you will be faced with it. It is the inescapable truth.  There is a saying in Buddhism: aging is unavoidable, illness is unavoidable, death is unavoidable. Before the strokes I felt invincible. I treated my body as if it were invincible. Now I’m the poster child for illness and disability. As we all age illness and death become more tangible. 

The coronavirus is a global crisis; a wake-up call for humanity. Who has not thought that the human race was spinning out of control, that with the avancement of technology the human connection was melting in the hot pursuit of more ..... fill in the blank.... cars, boats, homes, clothes .

It took the threat  of our existant in a way that force us to stay home with our family. We had more time to be present. We were spending more time safe at home. The number of people who realized they had too much stuff, the clutter from basements and closets that were at the end of driveways with  free sign next to it. The renewed respect for teachers as parents had to take a bigger roll in the education of the children. 

And let’s not forget the sprouting of new bread bakers that I saw pop up. Bread bakers! And not just any bread but sourdough, which requires nurturing and time, and PATIENCE. I have a deep appreciation for the meditative nature of making bread. At mimimum its an 8 hour commitment. Until now, it was rarely considered. If I have learned nothing else, I’ve learned slowing down, being vulnerable is not a negative trait. We should all feel vulnerable right now. I see and hear of people who feel their freedom of choice is being violated by the request for face covering. I hope they have a DNR. 

Im so gratful for more time on earth. I cherish my family. I have more to say to you. If everyone got a whiff of death, they just might stop complaining. This is a chance to reinvent yourself, to connect with the earth. Running through nature beats running on the treadmill at the health club.

Thanks to the medical community, dying from natural causes doesn’t exist. For some it will be cancer, or your heart, or a tragic accident or the deadly virus . This is why I feel fortunate. I can create an environment where the dying process is planned, hopefully peaceful, and I am with my loving family. It is selfish of me to say this, but for every person that feel the need to excercise their freedom by refusing to wear a mask, you are jeopardizing my chances for that to happen... it just a mask after all… be grateful you are alive to wear it!

Sometimes a picture is all you need

There was an artist that lived in New London, NH, the town I grew up in. Like everyone else in my small town, skiing was what you did in the winter. My dad was a very accomplished skier. In his era, if you were on the ski team it was required that you participate in all the disciplines... down hill, cross country, and jumping. He love the sport so on the weekends that’s where you would find my family. I deeply loved my father but didn’t share his passion for the sport. At 8 years old you didn’t question, you just did. Apparently this artist was in the parking lot when we were unloading the skis. He captured me as I tried to finagle my skis that my father just handed to me. The skis were crossed in front of my body and the expression on my face was pure misery. I have a love/hate relationship with this picture. It’s a reminder of the importance of teaching your children. The passion my dad had for the sport was so strong that he neglected to show me how to handle my own equipment. Teaching takes patience. It requires put your needs aside. Like my father I am not a patient person. Because I know this I make an effort to correct the deficit. 

So lately I am not feeling so well. No surprise but even when you know every day will be a bit tougher it’s still hard to soldier on. Genevive wanted to make cinnamon and raisin brioche. I felt uninspired and lethargic. This is a temperamental bread. It requires a specific method. I sat in the kitchen while she worked on the bread. I couldn’t get my but off the chair. At no fault on her part, the bread failed. I was so disappointed in myself. Then I walked by where that picture hangs in our hallway, and it hit me. I failed to teach her and put my issues before hers. I have a limited window of time to share my love of bread baking. I have only months to share this passion and knowledge with my children ....with you. I admitted my failure as a parent/ teacher. We made it together the next day, and the loaves were beautiful.  

This painting was done with oil paint. I don’t have the original but a lithograph. I wonder who has the original? More important is why? What did this person see? It certainly doesn’t portray any joy. It’s a young girl that feels only frustration and embarrassment. I don’t fault my dad; I get it. The man ran his own company, had 3 kids, and tried to hang on to the things that brought him happiness. That face is a reminder that passion should be shared.... should be passed down. That only comes with teaching. It also reminds me that my life was more that strokes and cancer. I had a youth, I gave birth to too beautiful girls, I traveled, I took chances, I loved deeply, I tried to be kind, and hopefully I’m teaching you not to fear death.

In theory I should be dead in a month . I don’t feel it around the corner, but its making itself known.  The process of dying has be fairly kind to me. I have yet to need medical intervention. When I let it get to me there is a domino effect. Genevive takes on my suffering as if it were her own. I desperately want my family to be proud of how I handled my death. These are the last moments we have together.

When my best friend’s mother was dying she was struggling to accept the end to her life. We dragged out the shoe boxes of photos. A span of her life lay before her. She needed to remember she had a full life. That picture in our hallway is my reminder.

Occasionally I slip and fall back on old behaviors. Before starting the Good Loaf I had a 70’x 30’ garden. Ten years of neglect it became an enormous bed of weeds and a chronic eyesore for me. Last week Genevive and John took the time to till the soil, remove the weeds, and salvage whatever survived. I now had a platform. I became way too excited and started to plant shop. I began putting together a plan; a vision was forming that I couldn’t wait to put into action. My daughter wanted to see me happy, so she worked on preparing the garden for planting. She felt stressed and tired and pressured to give me this garden. I had to take a moment and remember what was important. I got frenzied over something that I wouldn’t be here to enjoy.  I had to let it go. I had my family and that was enough. I had the fact that they care enough to get rid of the eyesore. It was my 20 year old daughter who reminds me of what’s really important. Now who’s the teacher?

We are in the mists of a teachable moment. I will leave this earth at a time when you cant give a hug, you can’t gather with friends, you can’t have the big wedding, and sadly you can have a funeral for loved ones.  However, you can knit your family closer together. You can appreciate what you do have.... more time❤️

Is this my last birthday??

My 59th birthday is coming up.  I’m pretty sure I won’t see 60. I’m 10 mo into a 12 mo terminal cancer diagnosis. I chose not to treat the cancer but to live the remainder of my time with people that I love, and not with nurses and oncologists. It’s a strange place to be when you know you’re about to get really sick and do nothing about it.  Every time I feel something out of the ordinary or don’t feel well I have to coach myself with my mantra... “you made a choice now deal with it”. By choosing not to know or treat the cancer, it simplifies the process of dying. It’s very clean. I will get sicker and I will die. There’s no anticipation of a cure. 

I try to make friends with the cancer. I try to bargain with the cancer.  “If you grow somewhere that I can tolerate, I won’t try to stop you”. It found a home somewhere in my intestines . I call it my tumor baby. It’s like morning sickness when you’re pregnant, along with the fatigue and swelling. You just won’t have a joyous ending . I try to be forgiving with my prognosis. There are days when I am struck with intense fear and sadness. It’s that pit in your stomach—that fight or flight reaction that keeps mankind alive. That’s when its important to zoom out. Im a pro at obsessing. Great when you a triathlete and helpful to start a business, but obsessing about death it a waste of time that I don’t have. So I zoom out. I think of the thousands of people who died from the Coronavirus alone. I think of all the people fighting a war that they didn’t start and dying in a foreign land. Remembering that I am not alone in suffering grounds me.

 I gauge my health with triking. As long as I can still crawl up the hills in Mont Vernon I know I’ll be around for a bit longer.

These last months have been emotionally raw. Not just for me but for all of us. I am proud of my family.  We have always used humor to cope.  Several years ago, after the strokes we took a weekend and stayed at a B&B. Next to the inn was a funeral home . As we walked by I said “that’s where I should be staying “ John’s response was, “ you can’t, you’re mostly dead but not all the way dead” ( from the Billy Crystal in the Princess Bride) . 

We are honest and talk openly about life without me. I am better at accepting my death. I am craving candor and push on topics that normally I would avoid. I just don’t feel like I have time to waste. As you can imagine, it’s not always appreciated.

Make no mistake, there are days when I’m despondent. I’ve had a lot of training, with depression and know that I will crawl my way out of the hole again. I’ve learned that depression has many levels. The goal is to stop yourself before sinking to the bottom . When I let it go too far, I stop hearing people. We all have relationships that require a delicate balance. We avoid the sensitive topics to keep peace. I now seek honesty with myself and others. That comes at a price. The tears I shed stem from regrets and realizations. When you push the boundaries of comfort in conversation and remain open you will find clarity. The air will clear again.

 I’ve been very emotional about this birthday.  Logically I understand it’s just another day, but this one has so much weight attached to it. Of course, with the Coronavirus there will be no party. I have my amazing family to make the day special. I will lounge around in my sweats and comfy sweater and soon to be gray hair and drink good wine and eat yet another masterpiece from Genevive. I will be grateful that I didn’t contract the virus and die in a hospital .

Since I’m not able to celebrate, I want to hear from people. When my dad was dying from lung cancer I reached to as many of his friends and business associates and ask them to write about a shared moment with my dad. I still have all the letters... yes this was not a techno-savvy generation.  They still used a pen and paper. Generally, I’m not one to broadcast my special day, but this one may be my last, and  if I can’t have a party. I would love to hear from anyone and everyone. Help me celebrate before my tumor baby takes me out.

Not Enough Chairs

I have the most beautiful daughter who has given up so much for me. She knew before my husband or I understood what this diagnosis meant. While John and I were processing the reality of no retirement together, and I was recognizing that I would never see the house we built together for the past 22 years finished , Genevive was planning to leave UVM where she had received a generous scholarship and stay home with her mom.  Her life is in purgatory. I have such guilt over this but love this time with her. Were it not for this selfless act my life would be in the toilet! She challenges me to really live everyday in the present. We are best friends, the kind that finish each other’s sentences and cry at the thought of the other’s sadness.

Genevive

So when her 20th birthday was approaching I wanted her to do, and have whatever she desired. Here is what she asked for … a dinner party where she cooks for others. Throwing a dinner party, and doing it well, requires planning.  Her list was eclectic and kept growing. Our house is not huge so a sit-down dinner for 20 people would be a challenge. My other daughter Kaitlyn, was kind enough to drag several chairs from storage… I means who has 20 chairs in their home? The night was crazy fun! Genevieve is not your typical 20 year old. The phrase “old soul” comes up a lot and in her case is accurate. I’m so proud of the person she as become. I will take no credit. She figured out life so far on her own. I’m a dying Mother with few worries about this girl. What is sad to me is that when she will need me the most I won’t be here. She’s very sweet but don’t think for a minute that she will falter on her principals . She is discerning and patient . Can you tell how much i love her?

We lined up harvest tables banquet style. Several courses, a lot of wine, a lot of laughter…the sign of a successful party is when no body wants to leave. I’ve been to a lot of parties, I’ve given a lot a parties. This was one of my favorites. We almost didn’t have it because of chairs! Never let small details prevent you from celebrating!

Dogs Know a Thing or Two About People

Our 5  year old German Shepherd can be unpredictable with people. When someone that he’s unfamiliar with comes to our home Griffin makes an assessment. Some people  he is indifferent with, sometimes he growls, and then there are the ones that he loves instantly.

Griffin

Friends from our past came for dinner last night, lovely, kind friends who are pure of heart. This was a beautiful night. We sat down at 6:30 and said our goodbyes at 12:30!  Six hours of great food, great wine, deep and open conversation. I have always loved Keith and Norma. There is so much warmth and a beautiful connection between the two of them, so when they are together it just spills over on to others in the room. 

This dinner was so much more than food. It was a discovery that as Norma put it perfectly: “we all have our own shit” My shit is well known, to the point that I’m sure someone would say... what the hell did you do to piss God off so much! Believe me I’ve asked myself that many times. The truth is that suffering make life electric. It wakes you from the sleep of a comfortable, predictable, safe life and reminds you that there are no guarantees. We reminisce about trips, and insecurities, and life after retirement.  Keith was the reason I met my husband. We were all riding in a century for MS. I came with a friend and was separated from my first husband. I loved to ride my road bike and was a strong, but technically green, rider. One hour into the ride my friend fell off. I on the other hand, spotted these guys hammering in a fluid and dance like line, called a pace line. It was a beautiful thing to watch. So this doesn’t speak well of me—but I ditched my friend and snuck onto the back of their mini freight train. It was invigorating! I was going so fast because they were blocking the winds. They didn’t know that I was there, and I wasn’t going to jeopardize my fun, so kept quiet. Keith saw me, and my life changed forever. We rode together many times from that day. My favorite was 4 notches and a pass. A hundred grueling miles through the white mountains of New Hampshire.  Here’s what I learned that night. I wasn’t the only one who felt that that ride was epic. Keith had thought that it wouldn’t be a bad place for some of his ashes.  I too would like part of me on Mt Washington. When I turned 50 John pulled out all the stops and we went to Peter Island. It’s a bougie private island. Here’s the thing,  a few months later I had my first stroke. There is danger in hinging on your savings and zest for living  until the “golden years”. There are no guarantees. I’m the poster child for that one!

Norma is insightful. She has every right to mount herself on the pity-potty but choses  to face her situation with clarity. To my devastation, she mentioned that she was diagnosed with stage 2 breast cancer. So often I have felt alone in my disability and now my disease. I have this vision in my head of a concentrated group of  healthy people and  a shield protecting them. And then there are a handful of people on the outside unable to enter because they don’t belong. It sad to me that I feel comforted that I’m not alone.  It means others are suffering too. My rekindled need for that human connection is melting that image. The only one who places me outside is me.

Her treatments will start in a few weeks. So much is on her side...the love of Keith and her family. The love of all her friends (everyone loves Norma) and her positivity. Feeling connected can energize a person and keep them away from the dark places I’ve been. Keith and Norma are gems. Griffin gave his stamp of approval. 

Good Loaf Party

My life was a series of achievements, triathlons, marathons, ice climbing, and taking a business from my kitchen to my garage, to a retail store. I seldom put on the brakes. Selling the Good Loaf broke my heart, especially because it was the result of my health. I loved my bakery. I loved the people that worked next to me. I loved the customers. We were creative, crazy, playful misfits that got up in the middle of the night to play in dough. Cat Empire would be blaring. Time was a blur. My astute husband  once said that the only thing that would keep me awake past 9:00 was baking. 

The Crew + family

After the cancer diagnosis my family asked what was on my bucket list… you know the one we are all supposed  have. First thing on the list was create a bucket list.  I never had one.  It was time take a moment and look back. It was time for a  Good Loaf reunion. The beauty of social media is within a day the word spread and the party grew beyond the size of my home. Amy LaBelle a woman has an infinite number of responsibility’s and yet has the time to acknowledge my journey was thoughtful and gave me a beautiful space to celebrate.  

When you own your own business its a part of you. The people  that take a chance and are willing to join in your vision become family. As the founder there is a fondness for them. You assume they are kind because of the paycheck. Thank God  I had the reunion. My love for these loafers was shared by the people that stuck my me while my health took a nose dive. If love could kill cancer cells the that night of November 22, then I should be cured. After the night was over I couldn’t sleep. I felt so much love and gratitude. If  you know someone with a terminal illness don’t wait for the funeral to send flowers and don’t  wait for the eulogy to express what they meant to you. I’ve have yet to hear a story of someone coming back from the dead to say thank you!

Lunch with the Ladies

I was so nervous to see these beautiful women again. They were my second family and remember me pre-stroke. A strong part of me wanted to avoid these encounters . I didn’t like the person I had become physically and emotionally. Genevieve convinced me to have them for a luncheon. I had forgotten what a close and loving family they are. 

They didn’t care that half of me was already dead. If you ever seen  the hunch Back on Notre Dame that how I picture myself in my head . I feel that I make people uncomfortable. For 8 years I’ve had to endure strangers staring at me.  Instead these sisters gave me laughter, hugs, flowers, and comfort. 

Ive never had a strong faith and these women do. They lost their brother/husband to pancreatic cancer. I loved Stephen. Everyone loved Stephen. He spoke like a Kennedy, a guy that was magnetic when he entered a room. At Christmas we would draw names in order to stay financially solvent (big Catholic family). Stephen got me... and he really “got me”. Two intricate antique dolls.  I’ve cherished them for over 20 years. The beauty of a gift like that is the memories it evokes, and the feeling that rides on the back of it. I wanted to give them to his family. I heard that he died peacefully. His mother died peacefully. Both were religious. I want to die peacefully.