Dearest Jean—it is November 8, 2006 and we are nearing the end of your life road. You have lived, you have loved and in return and without expectation, you have truly been loved and respected by so many, so often and for so long.
As I sit by your bedside my instinct is to begin writing--a true extension of one of your key characteristics. You are a beautiful and prolific writer. You may well have invented the thank you note and if not, certainly you perfected it. The postal service will have to reengineer their business strategy now that you are no longer a part of their daily revenue stream, which also makes me wonder how in the world is the Fresh Market surviving without your 7/365 visits?
Another trait that worked hand-in-glove with your writing was your ability to inspire, extend a compliment and express an encouraging word. You always told me that I wrote well, you said I had a gift of expressing myself in writing. I’m not sure this was or is true but I enjoyed your positive feedback and always in believing in your optimism, another way that defined who you are as a person. Your notes and letters were always so well crafted, so meaningful, poignant, timely and often or whenever appropriate, humorous. You were so funny and perhaps more impressively, you were so witty. I love the memories I have of our laughter together. I love the DNA transfer of your wit to me as it allows me to approach life with a creative lens and this, too, has served me well.
Today is a dreary, rainy, cool, dark day. Perhaps it’s the storm before the impending calm—the moments before the ever-lasting peace that you so richly deserve and that you are preparing to enter.
You’re a special woman Jean E., Jean Elizabeth, Queen Elizabeth, Jeanie Walker, Jean-Jean the dancing machine, Jean Higgins, mom. You are so smart, so very kind, so generous, so strong and so caring of others.
The loving people of Hospice of Wake County are now caring for you. They think we could be hours before you shift your soul to a new place, a new chapter and a new opportunity to “write” the script of your future in the special spot that awaits you in heaven. Your work is done here Jean and your eternal life will live on in the actions of your children and all the people you have touched, inspired and for which you made life better—just because you were a part of it, a part of them. The staff and the residence of Chatham Creek are sadden by this news about you—you never cease to amaze me on the impact you have on other people. They love you, too.
I have called Thomas and Karen. I don’t know how to reach Kevin—but I will ask cousin Phyllis if she can put the word out to our west coast family members to see if the information will reach Kevin…and if so, will he respond? I can’t explain this.
We are keeping you comfortable, calm.
I have had a special afternoon with you. I have thanked you for the life you have given me, the guiding principles bestowed, the strength you have transferred. You have set my internal compass on a course pointed towards caring for others, commitment, passion, humor and a determination that I should have a vision and goals in my life and for goodness sake, go for it! These values are not exclusively mine—you have shared this message with others through thought, word and deed. We have been blessed with you, with your leadership—and individually and collectively we thank you.
Your work is done—it is okay for you to let go, to move on. You are and will always be with us. You can trust and have faith that this is true—you’ve provided us the enduring tools that will make our lives better.
Andy Stewart the Chaplin from Hospice has been visiting with you since early this year. He too has grown to love and admire you. Today we spent almost two hours together around your bed talking and celebrating parts of your life. He conducted a small service for you—reading scripture and some prayers. It was beautiful. You would have loved it. You would have written Andy a thank you note. Andy’s words were meaningful for me—it was a peaceful time for us together.
I have made calls regarding the arrangements for your afterlife. I am developing a vision—based on your wishes, our talks together.
I left your side tonight for a few hours—feeling certain you would have wanted me to follow through on a community commitment. I wasn’t implementing work for the sake of completing a task but I felt energized by you to go and to do the right thing. I had a chance to honor a young woman with the Gutsy Girl Award at the YWCA Academy of Women event. You, Jean, are in your own right, a gutsy girl. Not many people attending the event knew it, but it was also a way for me to honor you—it felt right being there.
I made it back by 8:30 PM—you are calm. The comfort kit medications are helping.
November 9, 2006—it is an unusually warm, sunny and spring like day. You are showing some of the signs and symptoms of the final process, the very last steps. You are holding on—yet I continue to tell you that it is okay to let go.
I have met with Carole Walters the Hospice Medical Social Worker that is part of your care team. As always she is so helpful to me and encourages me to use some of this time to work on your final wishes. She is thoughtful and resourceful--and I begin to make the phone calls.
The cremation society has explained their process to me. I have talked with a person at the Holy Trinity Church and confirmed that you may have your final resting place at their parish. This made me feel so good. You loved this little white Episcopal Church—it resembles Saint James in Hackettstown, New Jersey and the church surroundings are in a beautiful mountain setting in Glendale Springs, North Carolina. This warms my heart—knowing this is something that you wanted, that you most certainly deserve. It fits you, it is congruent with who you are, your beautiful soul in a special place for a special woman to live on, to be remembered, to be honored and to rest in peace.
November 10, 2006—I talked with Thomas and Karen about the ideas for you, the vision for how we will care for what you leave behind. They, too, love knowing that you can be someplace special here while your spirit goes some place special there.
You became a little agitated today—another one of the signs or symptoms out of the death and dying handbook. As the lifelong perfectionist that you are (but of course, you’re a Virgo), I am wondering if you’re trying to cover or complete all the potential last steps on this homestretch. You don’t need to—but this final example of your amazing strength should really come as no surprise. Even in the end you are living your motto—a woman’s work is never done! You also have managed from time to time—even just a little smile. You’re something else, Jean E.
Linda Moore your Hospice nurse arrived and immediately came to your side. Linda has cared for you for the last 6-months and I believe she has a real sense of who you are—the special, strong, happy Jean that has been described above. I love knowing that people “get you” and somehow are so quick to understand your depth beyond the deterioration of your physical being. Only special people are Hospice nurses and Linda is no exception—she is someone you would have had a friendship with if you knew her in your prime, away from this debilitating illness of Alzheimer disease. Beyond the medical care she administers to you she offers you her respect and admiration for the woman she believes you to be. I am grateful for Linda.
You now have a Website—jeanhiggins.blogspot.com. It is fair to suggest this may be a way that helps me cope. I was able to post some special pictures of you last night—you are beautiful both inside and out. I wanted a place to share this tribute to you—a place to direct your fans both family and friends. Another place to go, to be close to you.
Shellie called and she would like to come see you. I sense it is not an easy decision--she has such strong memories of your special friendship together, your lunches, movies and she may be the only other person that could love Goodberry's custered as much as you. Shellie and Karlin arrive and are able to take the time to express their love and wishes for you. Shellie is also able to share some great Jean stories--which meant your room was filled with laughter. You both were very close and had a very special bond and love.
November 11, 2006—At 12:01 AM last night I waited for the phone to ring. I somehow think that today is the day. That you will chose a patriotic day like Veterans Day for your final transition. It’s just what I think—the reality is that it’s your power and your will that ultimately makes the final determination. I arrived at 7 AM and you again seem calm, the rattle in each breath is fairly faint, your breathing cadience is consistant, you insist on keeping your right eye open—I insist on trying to convince you to relax, shut your eye(s). Perhaps I should just relax--why must I fix your eye? You have gotten very hot and sweaty—this too, I am told, is normal. Dad’s death was so different—in some ways so sudden yet with years and a series of heart attacks it always seemed like we lived on the edge, living each day walking on the proverbial egg shells—trying not to imagine but always wondering when the final shoe would drop, not speaking about but always fearing this impending doom. He was so young to go and really so are you Jean. It saddens me most to not have more quality time with you and for you to have a quality of life much greater than this frail state.
I’ve been at your side throughout today, holding your hand, kissing your forehead, moistening your lips and inside your mouth, using a damp washcloth to wipe away the perspiration when your body temperature flashes and of course, I keep trying to gently close your eye and let you know it’s okay to go--smile.
It is afternoon now and I thought you would want me to liven this place up and for about an hour I did my best to serenade you with my limited recollection of the lyrics from any Frank Sinatra song. Unlike you, I do not have a beautiful voice and yet, as always, you do not seem to mind that I can hardly carry a tune. Thank you very much. Once the Frankie song list memory bank was exhausted I moved on to the patriotic genre—they tend to be more forgiving to the less developed singing voice and I belted them out with Jean-like enthusiasm. Makes me laugh.
Throughout these last few days the staff at Chatham Creek have been coming to your side, to see you, touch you and express their love for you—I swear you must have a magnet implant for the way people are drawn to you. I have always told Kay in the Medicine Room that she reminds me of a “Walker” family member and as such from time to time she calls you Aunt Jean . Other staff members have names for you—such as Jeanie-Bell. It's all good.
It is early evening now and the weekend Hospice nurse will be here sometime after 6 PM. Your breathing is starting to change to a new rhythm—the breaths seem deeper and longer apart. I’m watching you, I’m holding you—I am with you.
The moment arrives at 7 PM when you don’t take your next breath. I wait and the quite of peace arrives—this is not temporary apnea. You are in control and you choose to let go.
Peace be with you Jean E. and trust I can hear you say, “and also with you”.
