Farewell
21/06/12 05:37
Min was 94 years old when I met her. She had been living in the retirement community for almost a decade at that point of her life. Her eyesight had failed her and she had companions who assisted here with daily living tasks, but she remained very active. She attended church regularly and came to the meetings of the women’s fellowship. At that point in her life, she was recognized as once of the elders of the church. We had a couple of members who had belonged to the church longer than she, as she didn’t join the church until she was 24 or 25 years old. Still, we didn’t have that many members who had belonged for 70 years. We hit it off in part because we both listened to the radio quite a bit. She told me I should start following the Lady Hardrockers, the women’s basketball team at South Dakota School of Mines and Technology. She also told me it was important that I visit the “old people” who live in nursing homes. I didn’t realize that one day she would hold the record as the person to whom I made the most visits while living in the nursing home.
Many years later, when we arranged for her to come to church in celebration of her 108th birthday she told me, “I think I should go to church on my birthday every year.” By then she was nearly deaf, and couldn’t understand the sermon or scripture readings, but she could feel the vibrations of the organ. She paid special attention to the organ repair and restoration project and was delighted to be able to come to church to hear the nearly completed instrument. We never worked it out for her to come to church again. The logistics were challenging. By then she used a wheelchair for mobility, was blind and nearly deaf, and needed a constant companion to help her get around. Her birthday was December 10 and the weather made it difficult for her to go outside. But she didn’t forget about church.
It was around that time that I noticed that she had a preference for a particular liturgy for communion. She was still able to get out of her room to participate in activities at the health care center, so we had small services with other residents. Sally Halley, another Rapid City pioneer, often joined us for those services. If I started to read a different liturgy, Min would loudly correct me. One of the advantages of being deaf is that you don’t sound loud to yourself. No one else has trouble hearing you, either. I realized that Min had the liturgy memorized. It makes sense. By that time she had taken communion more times than I had celebrated it. From that time on I always used the same liturgy and never left anything out when I celebrated with her each month.
Over the years I heard a lot of stories from Min. Her first husband was the owner of our city’s newspaper and she often found herself at the center of social gatherings. There were a lot of dignitaries who visited our city and were hosted in their home, including three Presidents of the United States.
Min had the focus of an editor when it came to a newspaper. Every word of our church’s monthly newsletter was read to her by one of her companions. When we made a mistake, we might get a phone call offering the correction. Sometimes Min would report the mistake when I came to visit. More than a few times, when I thought that she might not be paying attention, I discovered that she had been listening to every word with careful attention. She didn’t miss much even after we thought she might have stopped listening.
We didn’t lose Min all at once. She suffered little losses spread out over a long time. She lost her eyesight. She lost most of her hearing. She lost her mobility. She never lost her dignity.
In the last couple of years of her life, Min slept a lot. I often would arrive for a visit and it would be hard to wake her. Sometimes she would wake, but choose not to speak, so I couldn’t tell for sure if she knew I had come. I learned to recite the 23rd Psalm (King James Version) or the Lord’s Prayer (debts and debtors) and watch her lips. If she was awake, she’d say them with me.
She was awake, alert, dressed up, and excited for her 110th birthday party. She seemed to enjoy every minute, especially eating cake. When Al Pitts sang to her, she asked him to sing “I Love You Truly.” He complied. She beamed. It was a great day and I am glad I was there to witness it. A few days later, when I stopped by for a visit, she didn’t seem to wake up for me.
When she turned 111 last winter, we knew that it might be her last birthday. She had been more prone to infection than previously and seemed to catch every virus that came into the care center. She contacted MRSA and survived the treatment, but it left her weakened. Still she would acknowledge my presence when I visited and we shared communion. By mid-April, I was visiting almost every day. There seemed to be little change, though her breathing had slowed and her heart rate had increased. The doctor said that she could go at any time. I shared prayers. I anointed her with oil. I sat and held her hand.
It was a slow-motion process. After 111 years, four months and ten days, she just stopped breathing.
Her daughters, themselves not what people call young, decided not to have an immediate funeral, but rather a private graveside service at a later date. They chose not to run an obituary in the newspaper, though there was a news article about Min about 10 days after she died. It was very strange. She had been so much a part of the community for so many years that we didn’t know how to react. We had no opportunity to come together in our grief and share our stories. With love and respect for Min and for her family, however, we respected their wishes.
Today a small group of us will gather at the cemetery. I will be reading part of the service directly from the book of worship. I don’t want to miss a word. Even if Min cannot correct me, she has taught me to correct myself.
Min was always up for another adventure. She felt no need to rush the once-in-a-lifetime experience of dying. I have no doubt that she’s up for the adventure of what comes next.
Farewell, friend. We miss you.