The Blessings Of Memory For Me

This post was supposed to be published on 20 September, but I was unable to finish it in time.  So instead, it will appear today, on my cousin's birthday, as a tribute to his mother, perhaps the greatest soul I have ever known:

A year ago today, one of my aunt's friends, whom she had invited over for lunch, found her lifeless body lying in a pool of blood on her living room floor, clutching a recently-purchased pistol in her hand.  The police were forthright in stating that there were several signs that her death was in fact a suicide, but ultimately they declared her death an accident, probably so that my cousin could collect the life insurance benefits.  The nice thing about being human is that we can decide what we believe.  Some days I believe it was an accident, some days I believe she just couldn't take the pain any longer.

I mention her death not because I wish to tear open the delicate stitching holding together a scar on my soul, but rather because her life and the battles she fought remind me of the protagonist of a book I recently read, The Time Traveler's Wife.  Or rather, I can't help but believe that the author crafted her story by observing my aunt's life, most notably in the way that Claire, the wife mentioned in the title, tolerates her husband's faults, remaining true to the promises that she made to him and the way that she supports him at the end of his life, never wavering in her strength as she watches him die slowly, painfully, and mostly without joy.

I don't have the words to adequately convey just what she felt and what she did at the end of my uncle's eighteen-month fight against melanoma, so here I will defer to her, to a passage she wrote for a church service from which the title of this post comes and whose words I carry tucked away in a special place, physically in a pocket of my wallet, emotionally tattooed on my soul:

When my 47-year-old husband, Gene, was dying of cancer in November of 1996, we had an ID bracelet engraved for our 15-year-old son as a Christmas gift from his father.  Gene chose the inscription, "Know God's Presence Always".  My husband knew that he would not be alive at Christmas, so he gave the gift to our son in late November.

It was one of many gifts he gave our family as he struggled to beat the cancer-gifts of grace, courage, humor, and a daily, living faith.  One day we sat down to plan his funeral.  We selected favorite songs, a psalm, and several passages from the Bible.  There was one favorite passage...that Gene wanted read at the Mass of the Resurrection, but he didn't know the Bible reference or the full text of the reading....A few days later, we sat reading from a daily devotional booklet as we did each day.  It had been an especially bad day for Gene, with much suffering.  He asked me to read an extra daily devotional....Knowing in my heart that Gene would not live to his 48th birthday..., I turned to the reading for [his birthday].

She goes on to say that the passage that she found at the bottom of the devotional for his birthday is the exact passage that my uncle wanted read at his funeral but could not remember while they planned his funeral.

And that's what has hurt the most.  Knowing how strong she was, how much strength it must have taken for her to get up everyday, knowing that it would be a day filled with her husband's suffering and fading life, deciding that her only purpose in life during those last few months was to help her husband ease out of physical existence as painlessly as possible, all the while pushing on and being the crutch that he needed, only to lose that strength and courage in fighting her own battles.

As I read the last few pages of The Time Traveler's Wife, I felt as if it were in fact I who was time-traveling back to the time when I watched her make the same choices that Claire does.  And I couldn't help but cry, needing to stop every few paragraphs to let the tears dry, let the pain subside, and let the memories fade.  She was so strong.  And if she couldn't make it, if she couldn't call upon that strength one more time for herself, then what hope is there for the rest of us?

Of course, there is no answer to that question; there never will be.  But to make that choice.  To honor that promise and decide that the most important thing you can do in your life is to help another soul.  That is faith, that is strength, that is love.  And that is what makes The Time Traveler's Wife such a memorable book.  If you get the opportunity, read it and you will see exactly what I mean.  My life was blessed by having a chance to know a soul as bright and dedicated as Claire.  I only wish I had had more time with her.