A Window of Grace

I have not posted for several days due to the passing of my long-separated wife.

After a decade long battle against early-onset frontotemporal dementia (FTD), she finally succumbed to it at age 54.

The following are a few of my thoughts made on my behalf by the ministers at her funeral service as my Parkinson's-dampened voice would have muddled my comments:

When asked to describe who Carrie was, it took me awhile to get my thoughts past what she had become - a mere shadow of her former self. While I choose to maintain a confused silence over the cosmic significance of what I witnessed of her decline over the past decade and especially the last month, I will try to share a few impressions of her past life with you this afternoon. 

Carrie was a quiet person who kept her own counsel. She had a dry but tart sense of humor that only infrequently burst into laughter. She made one work for a laugh. She did not suffer fools gladly.

Carrie was a reader from a young age who tried to live her life strictly "by the book" and usually from the most authoritative book on the subject. 

Carrie was disciplined in her studies and was rewarded through her several academic achievements. She expected her high school English students to be as she was. No excuses or exceptions. A fact that she was thanked for by her former students after they entered college.

Carrie was disciplined in fast walking her 5k route almost every day. Even when I -  dressed in a suit and dress shoes - accompanied her one hot August day as we discussed the possibility of marriage. There was no stopping her so I was warned.

Carrie was a planner and said that she depended upon me for spontaneity - two traits that were very hard to reconcile seeing as I have neither a plan nor spontaneity. 

All levity aside, Carrie walked a horribly difficult path since her dementia diagnosis. A path that cannot be planned for. A path paved with the extreme spontaneity that stems from brain deterioration. 

I would like to believe that Carrie provided those of us who cared for her over the past weeks with a window of grace. A window from whence we can glimpse our fragile humanity. A window that reflects the image of God.

As she lay dying . . .   

We watched her eyes 
a bright lapis 
shout at us to 
do something, 
anything . . . 
to say something, 
anything  . . . 
that she might understand. 

Her bright lapis eyes 
held our gaze 
while her lips, 
stained red from the 
Pedialyte that she lived on 
those last few days, 
opened up birdlike 
to sip from a 
10 M L syringe 
offered to her
like wine from Cana
hoping for our
first miracle.