Eulogy for a Classy Dame

Marjorie Estes art; used with permission of the family

 March 29 was a difficult day, and a wonderful day. When I got home late that night, a message from a dear friend was waiting for me: his Mom had moved to Hospice House, and if I wanted to see her again, I should plan to do so soon.

And of course I did, so I got up early, rescheduled my patients, and hurried south to see Marge. We had a lovely talk, laughed, told terrible stories about dead and dying people we’ve known, caught up on living people we know in common, wondered what the world will be like in 25 or 30 years, discussed how long it takes for the body to shut down once one has stopped eating and drinking, and told each other how wonderful it’s been to know each other. After I wished her a safe and comfortable journey, we promised to meet again – somewhere, sometime.

I’ve long had jobs that sooner or later bring a lot of sadness. For more than 20 years I taught t’ai chi ch’uan, and about 10 years into that profession, because so many of my students were coming to class to remain healthy as they grew older, or to improve health after an illness, I decided I needed to be better able to help them, so for the last dozen years I’ve been a Chinese medical practitioner as well. Marjorie, besides being the mother of a best friend and of a dear patient and their sister, was long one of my t’ai chi students – she earned an interesting notoriety as the student who took the longest time to learn the style – more than 10 years. She also won the hearts of many of her fellow students, largely for her kindness and wise advice to younger students facing life challenges, but not least for sharing with the class the series of anatomically correct and detailed Life Sketches she’d drawn in her art class. When I wrote to let students know that Marge was dying, several wrote back to say, in the words of Pat who always says it best, “Marge is one of the classiest dames I’ve ever known.”

When you care for people for decades – I have students who have been part of my t’ai chi family for more than 20 years, some of them now scattered across the country; and patients I’ve treated for more than a decade – you watch them grow old. You watch their health improve and decline, and you can sometimes help slow the decline or improve their health, at least for awhile. But more important, you get to know them, often in a way no one else knows them; you learn to love them; and some of them you fall in love with, and they become part of your tribe.

The list I keep in my head of students and patients who have left this life grows ever longer, and at times like this, I can’t keep myself from ticking through it. I’ve had the joy of being able to walk part of that path with many of them; others I worry about when they disappear for some time, and sometimes I hear later that they’ve died, sometimes unexpectedly, sometimes at the end of a long illness, sometimes simply from using up the allotment of their days. And sometimes I discover that they’ve simply moved to California!

Many who’ve died have done so in ways that totally amaze me, with grace and courage. One lady, knowing her cancer left her only a couple of years to live, learned to surf, and spent most of the remainder of her life chasing waves across the country. Several embraced death as the first step into a completely new adventure they could barely wait to start upon. One, on hearing she had a heart defect that she might live with for months, or might die from any moment, called her kids to come home for the weekend, then called me to cancel next week’s appointment. “Are you going somewhere?” I asked her. “You might say that,” she said. “I won’t need the appointment after Monday.” “Monday?” I asked. “What happens Monday?” “Oh, that’s the day I die, I hope,” she said. And that’s exactly what she did: after an excellent weekend spent celebrating with her whole family, she went to bed, and slowly, and gently, passed away during the Monday.

So many of the folks I’ve known and loved who have passed on have taught me priceless lessons about love and acceptance, courage and determination. And now it was Marge’s turn. She waited until her kids were home from their winter travels; she chose every part of her journey to this place with thoughtfulness, care and determination. She had bucked up during a long, exhausting illness during the winter. And then, before Spring had truly arrived, she decided it was time. She was tired, she was weary, but not uninterested. Her body was giving out; she was ready to go. And almost exactly a week later – after spending sweet time with family and friends, and determinedly insisting to her doctors that she was there on the express plan, not the 2-month tour – she left us, to go on her next great adventure.

I hope we all have the circumstances, and the ability, to decide when it’s time; and to be comfortable - even eager - to discover what comes next, and craft our own final Journey. Goodbye you classy dame – you will be missed.

With sadness and admiration for a remarkable woman. For the blog alone.