Journal of a Living Lady #185

 

Nancy White Kelly

 

            You haven't lost something if you know where it is. Our family has grieved twice in a period of only weeks. One funeral was for an aunt in her seventies. She died from colon cancer. The other, my sister-in-law, age forty-eight, died from metastatic breast cancer. Vickie and my brother, Mike, had been married thirty years.

            A year ago, the doctor removed a small malignant lump from Vickie's breast. No lymph nodes were involved. The cancer appeared to be caught early. Routine chemotherapy was prescribed for an extra measure of safety. Vickie gladly submitted and was anxious to get on with life. Though somewhat sick from the side effects of the chemo, all appeared to be going well.

Not to be deterred by rational medicine, renegade cancer cells went on a raging rampage. Defying the normal profile, the vengeful cancer reappeared in Vickie's lungs, liver, and eventually bones. She continued to work. I marveled at her perseverance. Wimpy me threw in the work towel much sooner.

"How can she work with her head over a toilet everyday, with clutching pain, and no more energy than wilted lettuce?" I wondered Yet, work she did until the last couple of months. She even pushed herself to see Michael, the only son, graduate from Basic Training in Texas. My paternal grandfather would have been proud. He was an Assistant Chaplain and a bugler in the U.S. Army.

Vickie's three daughters, my nieces, all in their twenties, and a delightful young grandson continued to be the focus of her life. She was a family woman through and through.

My last conversation with Vickie occurred just days before her death. In whispered breaths from the hospital bed, she talked about a chaplain who appeared by her bed. The venerable minister prayed with the family regarding Michael's safety as he returned to military duty. Within a week Michael was back. Vickie had taken a sharp turn for the worse. All the children, her husband, mother, and other family members were there at the end. She was ready.

If there can be good funerals, Vickie's was that. Elvis Presley sang "Peace in the Valley" over inadequate speakers. She was a country music fan. One of her favorites artists sang a contemporary religious song. Though I couldn't make out the words myself, some around me mouthed the lyrics and cried.  An elderly preacher gave a low-key appeal to follow her to heaven. Vickie's uncle, a Baptist deacon, eulogized her at the graveside. "She kicked up dirt outside the house when she was a young'in," he said. "She is kicking up gold dust now."

Vickie isn't gone. I know where she is. She won't be forgotten either. She will long be remembered for her carrot cake and for the fine children she bore and loved. Heaven is a prepared place for prepared people. For Vickie, the bugle call of "Taps" on earth meant an angel played "Reveille" in Glory. Not a bad ending...or beginning.

 

++++++

nancyk@alltel.net