THE EULOGY--PART II--A FINAL MEMORY - By John Dorn

THE EULOGY—II—A GOOD MEMORY OF THE LAST HOURS

I cannot begin to imagine how difficult it would be if the love of my life died on an airplane that crashed into the middle of an ocean. When Kathy said “We won’t be going home” at least I knew I had some time to say goodbye.  In the final forty-eight hours I was able to say “Thank You” multiple multiple times.  I could say “I’m Sorry” for any stress I added to her life.  I said “I love you” over and over again.  I was able to say these things, stroke her hair, gently rub her shoulder and arm, and softly sing bits and pieces of songs we sang to our kids and grandkids.  At one point I said to her nurse at the time (Rosemary—she lost her spouse after 36 years of marriage) that I would put my hand on Kathy’s forehead and pretend that she knew I was here.  Rosemary responded immediately: “She knows exactly where you are every second.”

Rosemary was right.  At some point I told Kathy that I had said “I love you” so many times that I would not say it anymore.  I would just hold her hand and say “ditto.”  I don’t remember if tha twas one of the times Kathy opened her eyes, but I do remember that her gasp was one of delight.  I knew she knew where I was when she squeezed my hand and with a bit of a laugh said “Ah—Ditto.”
The rest of the story: When we were seventeen, we were willing to share our feelings for one another but public displays of affection were not our thing.  So rather than do or say anything overt, we were satisfied with referring to our affection by saying “Ditto” when the situation seemed to warrant it.  I will admit, I hesitated to even share this flashback to our teenage years, but it is my final memory of Kathy and I am so, so glad I thought of saying “ditto” while the clock ticked away n room 402, C wing, 5th floor of the UofM Fairview Hospital on Harvard St.

PS:Totally by chance, I read a poem a few weeks ago that spoke to me.
       I rearranged the final lines a bit because I am putting them in a different 
       context.  I wish I had written them.

“There we sit, together, one last time
As all that sweetness slowly disappears.
What remains, the memory of how
She taught us all the way we need
To learn to live with wasting.”
Tomorrow:  Kathy's Turn To Be Heard