I cannot believe this. No one can.
Two days after a wonderful Christmas she has a backache that sends her to a doctor.
Jane was not doctor-phobic. Being the sole provider for her children, she understood that she needed to stay healthy. She ate right, she had yearly check-ups, mammograms, etc.
There was no clue that anything was wrong, and yet the doctors last week said this growth inside her was so massive it must have been going on for years. From her kidney to her heart, the blackness grew. She is gone.
I know that the parish is rallying around for her kids, but I don’t have details yet. Some of you have been kind enough to ask about contributing to any fund established for them, and I when I have that information, I will pass it on.
I thank you – all of you – who have offered your prayers on her behalf and for Jane’s children. You are all so generous and good-hearted. Please keep praying for them; they will need it. Right now, as I type this, the three of them, ages 21, 16 and 15 are at the funeral parlor making arrangements. They wanted to do it themselves, and they are. Everyone is in shock; we are all in an daze of incomprehension.
Jane was a humorous, self-deprecating, pithy, pragmatic, realistic, droll, kind, warm, self-sacrificing woman of faith. Last time I saw her, between Thanksgiving and Christmas, we had joked about life being too busy – how we lived only four miles from each other and yet would only get caught up by chatting after Mass. We promised to get together “after the new year” for a glass of wine or an Irish coffee.
Beside me I have poured a glass of Ecco Domani Merlot, 2003. Ecco Domani could be translated, I think, to “here is tomorrow.”
Jane probably would like it, but she always complained that red wine put her to sleep. I can’t even imagine what tomorrow will be like. Tonight, I toast her and wish she were here to share it.
For you, Jane. God rest you, my friend. Sleep in heavenly peace.
I am utterly without words.