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The waves of grief have lessened considerably in my own life since we lost
Melanie on Easter two years ago, but I got hit by a doozy in church this
morning. I've spent the past two Sundays helping to paint banners to
decorate the church this Easter Sunday, and there in front of me was my
phoenix rising up out of ash, my sunrise, my mandala, my dragonfly, all of
these symbols of life renewing itself out of death that had seemed so appropriat
e.
Normally my soul soars with Easter music, but in the middle of the first
hymn my throat closed up and the tears started to come. I quickly
realized there was no way in hell I was going to be able to get my
emotions in check by the time it came to pass the peace, which in our
congregation involves a lot of hugging and smiling. I could not do it. I
quickly and quietly left the sanctuary, sat down on a step outside, and
let the sobs really come. A body came and plopped down next to me, Linda,
one of my Sunday school kids. "What's up with you?" That, a hug from my
pastor and my friend Kirsten and a few words of encouragement from them
was about all the interaction I could handle from my church family. I was
not expecting it to feel so close, like two years haven't even gone by. I
know it's like that for Patrick pretty much every day.
I did not know Melanie well, but I loved her dearly. She was a kindred
spirit, the sibling that made Patrick feel he wasn't crazy growing up in
the conservative family that he was otherwise surrounded with. She
believed in his art, encouraged him to keep doing it. She was a talented
photographer and writer, and liked to kayak in the ocean near Seattle.
She raised an awesome daughter almost single-handedly. She lost her son
to Sudden Infant Death Syndrome. When she was diagnosed with pancreatic
cancer and was told she had six months to live, she got things figured out
and faced the idea of death with about as much grace as anyone can. She
outlived that estimate by just a few months.
The first time I met Melanie was at Patrick's parents' place when she and
her daughter Lauren were visiting from Seattle, and I remember sitting in
the back yard sipping wine with her and quietly bitching about in-laws who
could drive us crazy. The cancer was probably already in her body, we
just didn't know it yet. She thought she had an ulcer, her stomach was
hurting so much, that's how she made the discovery.
Patrick spent crazy amounts of time with her up in Seattle after he found
out, and I went up for a weekend with him once. She was feeling a lot
better than she had been and was able to take Patrick and Lauren and I out
to the zoo. She took us to an area enclosed by netting where thousands of
butterflies were hatching out of their cocoons and flying about, landing
on bright bits of clothing and stretching their wings.
When she had to go
into the hospital full-time, Patrick pretty much moved into
her room with her, doing what work he could on a laptop. Just for the
record, Organic tried to take that money out of his final paycheck, the
time he spent with his dying sister. Patrick was not with her in the
hospital when she died because it happened on the day after my birthday,
and he'd flown down to be with me for it. He called to check on her, and
the nurse told him there was no one in that room anymore.
It's amazing how much you can miss someone just by seeing the effect their
death has on the one you love more than anything else in the world. Death
changes a person irrevocably, and that can be as hard to accept as the
loss itself. Sometimes I miss the old Patrick. I know he does too.
One day I'm going to make it back to Iona. When I do, I will climb to the
top of Dun I, and just maybe, in that place where the fabric between
heaven and earth is so very thin, I'll finally be able to tell Melanie how
grateful I am for her life.
http://www.melaniebakerbowman.com
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Heidi J. De Vries
