Epilogue
Carey celebrating the beauty of a developing sunset.
“What is life? It is a flash of a firefly in the night. It is the breath of a buffalo in the wintertime. It is in the little shadow which runs across the grass and loses itself at sunset.”
~ Crowfoot Blackfeet
July 2021
On a beautiful, breezy North Idaho afternoon Carey completed his journey at home in his bed surrounded by the love of his family. While we are heartbroken by the loss, Carey taught us so much throughout the dying process that we are easing into it. As he said, “for every tear, 100 smiles,” so get ready to give your facial muscles a workout!
The Labor Day fire in Bayview, Idaho taken from our deck.
The fire represents the cancer that consumes my body. The smoke of my cremated body flows across the Milky Way, starting my new journey of rejoining the cosmos.
Carey -
I have resumed my journey through the cosmos. My human form is relinquished to the forces of entropy and I will now once again travel as molecules, atoms and sub-atomic particles. Dispersed initially by the two most powerful forces on Earth - wind, and water. I will once again find my place – into the rain that falls, the water that you drink, the plants and animals that you eat and eventually into the minerals of the Earth. Just as I briefly incorporated atoms previously shared by all humans – all living things - since our beginning. Herbivore and carnivore, flying, swimming, and borrowing, particles of me will assimilate for brief periods of time into other organisms. Since we collectively simply recirculate the building blocks of life over the eons, only the foolish fail to realize that there is only one shared Earth. Only the blind choose not to acknowledge there is one human race, constructed with building blocks used by all of those who came before us. Earth, our solar system, and our galaxy all have finite timelines. At some point we all will once again be released into the cosmos. It should be quite a journey. Who knows when part of you will reunite with part of me at a time and place in the future…
What exactly is death?
In spite of all of us knowing that this is the inevitable end of the story, as it has been for those who came before, and will be for all of us currently alive, few thinks about this. Developing a fatal illness forces one’s hand. It is a process that I’ve learned to embrace, regarding this opportunity for reflection as a gift rather than a burden. It saddens me that many do not have this experience, by sudden unexpected death, or by their choice.
So, what happens when one dies? Whatever you want to happen.
I do not write this flippantly. We understand medically what transpires. But it’s merely speculation about what happens to one’s consciousness at that moment. There are traditional religious models of heaven or hell. There are beliefs of “rebooting” and reincarnation – another life form perhaps, another person, another time or place. Perhaps there are parallel universes and entry may be as oneself, or as another. Perhaps we whisk into a time-space continuum, widely spreading our consciousness while integrating with all other things.
I have envisioned the moments leading up to my death. Rather than a jump off of cliff, it’s a river rapid that plunges over a waterfall. For those who have had the opportunity to run rapids, there is a calm above as the water meets resistance from the obstruction. Then the speed begins to pick up. A “tongue” forms with the quickest water squeezing between obstructions. Channeling the optimal course. I sit in a kayak, feeling the rush of the water, the speed building, a feeling of weightlessness taking hold. As I go forward, I gather images of all the beautiful places I’ve been, and wonderful people I’ve known – family and friends. These too gain momentum as they gather around me. It’s an amazing sight. And then I plunge over the edge of the waterfall, truly weightless, with a sound that I can only compare to the final 20 seconds of the Beatles song A Day in the Life. And then the next journey begins…
" Do not stand at my grave and weep I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow. I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain. I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight. I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry; I am not there. I did not die.”
~ Mary Elizabeth Frye (also attributed as a Hopi Prayer)
Nicole - Coming Soon
Robin -
The end and the beginning…
Carey died on a beautiful, cloudless, and breezy day in July. All the windows were open, and the afternoon sun was shining in the bedroom. He died exactly as he wished – quickly, after he was no longer able to do the things he loved. And at home with family around him rather than in the hospital.
Carey didn’t get out of bed for the 48 hours before he died. His brother, and Tyler and Jeff were here. He spoke with our oldest daughter Kelsey in New Zealand and our “rental” daughter Laura in Australia the day before he died. We moved the photo frame into the bedroom so he could watch photos when he was awake; he enjoyed commenting on pictures of family and pets. The day he died he became a little agitated in the late morning but calmed immediately with a hug and a suggestion that he enjoy his journey and just go with whatever happened. We put on some “spa” music and sat with him until the end. It was as peaceful and beautiful a death as there could be.
After a call to hospice, a nurse arrived to handle final details. What surprised me was the hospice nurse asking me what we wanted him to wear. Dressing someone for cremation had never occurred to me but she insisted. Tyler and I had the same immediate thought that he should be in his red suit that he wore to every costume party for years. It seemed fitting for all of us that he go out in the platform shoes and red suit that he loved wearing.
Christmas “Who done it” in 2020. COVID made it difficult but not impossible to be together with some careful planning. Carey wanted to wear his red suit one more time. He didn’t know then that he would wear it again.
Dr. Pelly and her son Hudson arrived shortly after the hospice nurse and spent the evening with us. It was comforting for all of us to have her here. We had a zoom call with Kelsey and Mike in New Zealand and a few toasts with a bottle of wine brought to us by a friend a few weeks before called “Do Epic Shit” (Browne Family Winery)– good wine and a great message.
Browne Family Winery - Do Epic Shit. A good message and a good wine to toast the life of a man whose light was so bright it will shine forever in all those he touched.
6 months - With every new beginning comes an end we must accept.
As I write this, I am sitting in one of the prettiest campsites in Valley of Fire State Park in Nevada. Carey loved the red rocks of the desert southwest and we had many trips together and with our children and friends to these wild places. I now journey here alone but love it no less than when we journeyed together. Carey wanted his ashes spread by family and friends in places that they love. His ashes have made it to many beautiful places with more to come. We (Indy and I) took a walk around the scenic loop outside of the campground and found a wash with some towering red monoliths and arches. I left some of his ashes by the red rocks guarded by an elephant rock. It is a beautiful breezy day much like the day he died only a little cooler. The desert is peaceful and silent with only the wind stirring the bushes for sound. At midday, all of the birds are sheltering in the shade and no creatures are moving about.
Guardian Elephant Rock in Valley of Fire State Park
Today I am three and a half weeks into my winter road trip. The first two weeks were spent with my parents for Christmas and New Year’s holidays. My only plan for this trip other was to see some beautiful places and avoid the cold and snow in the Northwest. Maybe I will find myself, or meet some people, or learn something new, or just practice being on a journey alone (with Indy).
What have I learned in 6 months?
There is nothing I can’t do. I am still having trouble concentrating and some days feel like I imagine someone with ADD feels. I’m restless, motivated, torpid, peaceful, anxious, happy, sad, hopeful, content, and sometimes lonely. I find peace in nature and have seen every sunrise since Carey died (summer ones come really early). I love the transition from night to day, from the quiet stillness of the dark to the bustle of the day. Watching and hearing the birds wake to begin their day and the deer quietly moving through the field. The first light on the mountain and the shadows giving way to the sun.
I have never lived alone longer than I have now and I’ve always had someone to take care of in my life. It has never been just about me. I am struggling with figuring out who I am, what I want and how to just be and enjoy the sun or wind or moon or stars or the view or the warmth of the rocks. I feel a connection to everything and nothing. Thinking about the connection to all the people in the world makes me sad - if only we could find a way to care for each other. I am so lucky to be able to do anything that I want, live anywhere I want and be anything that I want. There are so many choices that I don’t know where to start.
1 year - Still a work in progress
I can’t believe it has been almost a year since Carey’s death. It seems so recent and emotions are still so raw. I am sitting in my rocking chair at a beautiful campsite in Strathcona Provincial Park on Vancouver Island writing this on what would have been our 40th wedding anniversary, the wind blowing softly through the pines and the roar of the creek for company. Milestones – Birthdays, job promotions, moves, Christmas, New Year, another basketball season, Gonzaga ranked #1 for the tournament, Coach K retiring, solo travels, etc. His death was much harder than I thought it would be. I thought we were so well prepared and everything did go according to plan. What I didn’t think about and plan for was my altered identity that happened with his death. I am no longer wife, partner, and friend as I had been for 41 years and now must figure out the new me. When you lose a life partner, you grieve the loss of that person and the loss of who you were with that person.
I now have to make all the decisions including what to have for dinner, what to do today, where to travel, and when/if/where to move among others. I was surprised by how much harder it is to make decisions alone without someone to help explore the options. I really miss all the little things that Carey did that used to annoy me and most of all I miss his hugs and his smile. Some days I still find myself thinking that I should remember something I saw so I can tell Carey when I get home. Some days are hard for no particular reason but over time more days are peaceful and happy. I have learned to go with the flow of emotion and that it is ok to be sad once in a while.
Coping:
Coping with loss is different for everyone. These are some of the things that have sustained me this year.
Sunrises: I have seen every sunrise since the day he died. I think he cursed me! Carey loved sunrises and often woke me and the girls to see them. I find comfort and hope in every sunrise – the world is still beautiful and good things come after the darkness.
Gratitude and Smiles: The girls and I started a group chat where every day (or sometimes multiple days on the same post) we post something that made us smile or we are grateful for. Early on, this forced us to think of the good things and now has become a habit. Reading about the things that make the girls smile is especially fun for me.
Video calls: Video chats occur with one or both of the girls almost every day and are the highlights of my days. I love hearing about what they are doing, trials and triumphs at work, beautiful places they see and what they are cooking for dinner.
Getting outside: Do this as often as possible. Travelling in the van to places we loved and to new places. It turns out that it isn’t really the place you love but the people who were there with you. Everything is different but no less beautiful. I have left some of Carey’s ashes at many of the places we went together and some that I discovered alone. Knowing I can visit these places on future trips makes me happy.
Strathcona Provincial Park - Vancouver Island Canada. This is the site of our first date - an unforgettable backpacking trip in 1980. The weather was much better in 2022.
Some practical things to think about
Give yourself some time – practical matters don’t need to be dealt with immediately. Major decisions should wait at least a year or longer.
Preplanning for cremation/funeral/burial eliminates the need to make decisions in the first few days when you are not thinking clearly.
Don’t cancel your loved one’s cell phone service until you have changed two factor security for all online accounts with your phone number otherwise you will not have access.
Make sure you know all recurring donations, online subscriptions and accounts including login information. This is a good idea to keep up for everyone so there are no surprises.
Keep a copy of electronic contact lists from mail and cell phones.
Insurance companies and financial institutions are still in the dark ages – most will want paper copies of death certificates, wills and trusts which take weeks to go back and forth. Don’t expect the process to smooth, quick or easy.
Personal lessons learned over the last year:
Be kind to yourself.
Find something every day that makes you smile.
Find the joy in each day especially the hard ones.
Take care of yourself.
Give up activities that do not bring you joy.
I can do anything. It is ok to do nothing but enjoy the view.
I am not as good a photographer as Carey.
All problems can be solved with a campfire or hot tub.
I have no real problems.
Get outside as much as possible.
Sunshine makes me happy.
Try new things, meet new people and visit new places.
It is the people not the place that contribute most to good memories.
Even if you think your spouse does nothing around the house you are wrong!
It is harder to get things done like car serviced, picking up something at the grocery store, or walking the dog.
Find your support people and don’t be afraid to ask for help (this is a work in progress for me).
Journals are a necessity – my memory isn’t as good as it once was and Carey isn’t here to remember for me.
Flowers and candles are good things.
Sunrises are beautiful (every one of them this year).
Photo frames and photo screen savers are a great thing – it makes me smile when pictures of Carey come up mixed among family and pictures of new and past adventures.
We did a lot of things and met a lot of great people and for that I am truly grateful!
I am terrible at keeping in touch with people even though I think of them often – be persistent.
The view from my deck is amazing.
Embrace the memories and seek new adventures.
Tyler -
I’m sitting in a mountain meadow. Sweat from the climb cool on my back as a gentle breeze washes over, making the leaves on the aspen trees dance. The quake of the leaves intermingles with the bright notes of birds and the hum of busy pollinators buzzing from flower to flower - as if they must taste each one before the summer sun shrivels them away. I’m struck by how full of life this meadow is. A symphony of sounds competing for my attention as my eyes flit from butterfly to bumblebee to bird -almost if I too must acknowledge them all before they’re gone. It seems fitting in a way - to be surrounded by life to write about death.
“Those who contemplate the beauty of the earth find reserves of strength that will endure as long as life lasts. There is something infinitely healing in the repeated refrains of nature—the assurance that dawn comes after night, and spring after winter.” – Rachel Carson
My brain is racing thinking of how to begin. How do I put my grief into words? This visceral feeling and shadow that has followed me for the past year – sometimes claustrophobically close and all encompassing. Sometimes a passing thing – something you barely notice out of the corner of your eye, but there… lurking. Waiting for the sun to bounce off it, drawing you in again. Living in the shadow of grief is a confusing place to be. To ignore the shadow is to make it grow until it can’t be ignored anymore as it engulfs you in its darkness. But if you acknowledge it. Stop and let it absorb you every once in a while, it becomes more friendly. An old friend rather than something menacing. And if you make friends with your grief, you may start to realize what grief really is – it’s just love in its wildest form.
I wish I could say that it’s not as bad as you think it will be, but it is… possibly even worse. No matter how long you’ve had to prepare (we had three years), it’s impossible to be prepared. It’s hard. It sucks. There’s no escaping it. When something makes us feel as terrible as grief does, we are hardwired to try to “fix” it. What I’ve learned through my grief journey is that there’s no fixing it, only feeling it. As hard as it is, embrace it. Humans are incredibly resilient. You will get through this. Or better yet, you will learn to live with your grief. It doesn’t go away, but it does get easier to live with.
Your grief is as unique as your relationship to the person you’re grieving was. Don’t try to compare grief. You’ll see as you read through my mom and my sister’s narratives, even though we grieved the same person, we each grieved in a unique way. I struggle with anxiety, so my go-to-process was to immediately compare myself with others. Is this normal? Should I be moving on by now? Those thoughts were not helpful in any way. Your journey is your own, take it at your own pace.
For me, it was absolutely necessary for me to get help in navigating through my grief. I was a wreck. While I was getting by with my underlying anxiety and depression before my dad’s death. It became too hard to cope with afterwards. I had never watched a loved one die before, and no matter how peaceful the passing is, it is still traumatic. I couldn’t get those last few days out of my head. I needed help. Fortunately, a program through my work was able to connect me with someone to talk to, to help process what I was going through, and get my mental health under control. But it didn’t happen with the first therapist I tried talking to. Therapy is not one-size-fits all. While my initial therapist helped me get through those first few weeks, we didn’t click. Instead of abandoning therapy after the first attempt, I kept with it. I worked with the amazing folks in my employee wellbeing program at work and they helped connect me with someone who clicked with me. Working through my emotions with someone I was comfortable with was essential to getting me through the first six months of grief.
As my mom stated above, it’s a good idea to wait a year before making big decisions, but sometimes you just have to. In an effort to take care of myself while my dad was dying, I avoided making life-changing decisions so that I could focus fully on my family. When my dad died, there was no reason to keep those decisions on the backburner anymore. In the first year and a half after he was gone, my (now) husband and I both got new jobs, moved back to mainland, got married, and bought a house. For us, while these were life-changing decisions, we were ready. It was almost liberating to re-focus our energy back to ourselves. That being said. It wasn’t easy. I quickly discovered that change is infinitely more scary in the early stages of grief. Not being able to get your loved one’s advice, or share new stories, milestones, and places with them is hard. I found myself taking quiet moments to sit and “be with” my dad. Sometimes I would talk to him in my head, sometimes I would journal letters to him. It sounds silly, but it helped for me. Even though he’s gone, he’s still with me.
The one-year milestone was surprisingly difficult for me. They say that grief comes in waves, and that is so true. Building up to the one-year mark, I was doing much better. I was no longer consumed with grief, I had worked with a therapist to find healthy ways of dealing with my grief, I was proud of how far I had come. But, as that date on the calendar started to draw nearer, I felt myself backsliding. Like, fully backsliding. I came down with a bought of depression that I couldn’t shake. I was furious with myself for “losing all of my progress.” Fortunately, once again therapy helped me immensely. Remember, grief is not linear. Be kind to yourself. Bad days will come. Sometimes you’ll feel like you’ve lost all of your progress, but you haven’t, every step you take is just part of your journey.
“The Heart” Upper Antelope Canyon.
The Navajo Nation