My adorable, 93-year-old Aunt Jo died about 40 minutes ago - not unexpected - sad nevertheless. Joey was one of the most warm-hearted, tolerant and loving people I've encountered. She had a hard life, was the second youngest of ten - one of my mother's sisters - married to a dispicable man who scarred everyone in his path. Still, Joey forgave, was tolerant, and sought joy and positive energy.
I spent Sunday with her at Kaiser Permanente in Woodland Hills - it was to say goodbye. She was having trouble letting go - her body was done, she was tired, but her mind was as sharp as ever - and she sought permission from all of us. So that's what we did - one by one, people went in to say "I love you, it's okay, you're tired, it's okay, good-bye."
And she waited until today to die so that we'd all get to vote. Her own ballot was marked on Sunday, my cousins turned it in today to the polling place - even though she voted for the wrong guy for President, she wanted us all to have the chance.
Showing posts with label obituary. Show all posts
Showing posts with label obituary. Show all posts
Tuesday, November 04, 2008
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
My friend, Joe O'Rourke
Just got a call from my brother with news I didn't want to hear. Joe O'Rourke died. Joe was an ex-Jesuit, drummed out of the priesthood in 1974 after baptizing a baby whose mother believed in planned parenthood and a woman's right to choose. Joe was part of the DC 9, who broke into Dow Chemical's Washington DC office and destroyed files in 1969. Dow was the main manufacturer of Napalm, and this was during the Viet Nam War. It's funny how the Church supported Joe and his fellow protesters over Viet Nam, but not for a baptism.
But this is what I remember: I met Joe in about 1991, and we became friends because Joe befriended everyone. He was big - not so much physically big, although he was tall - but I mean his personality took up space. He was loud. He loved to listen, and to challenge ideas, and he loved smart women. He was messy, and passionate, and funny, and when he spoke, his language was so circular that people got confused and could not follow him to his point - which he always made, eventually, after tangent, after tangent, after tangent. For reasons I don't understand, I could follow him. I enjoyed his enjoyment of life.
We used to go to dinner a lot, and would cover all kinds of topics - especially Judaism as I understood it, and Catholocism and catholocism - and AA, and doing well by doing good, and the spiritual principle that "you go first" making amends always, always, always. He adored his son. He adored his wife, who became his ex-wife - I can't imagine living with Joe for more than a minute, it would drive a person crazy, I am sure. He was an amazing cook. He would gather groups together to hit ten restaurants in Chicago on a given night to only have creme brulee at each. He spilled food everywhere. He made me laugh. He made me think. He was a friend.
Not everyone loved him. He could charm the birds out of the trees, he had that Irish gift of gab but his follow-through was, well, a mess. He constantly disappointed people, and he knew it. I told him once that my idea of hell was the two of us, drunk, locked in a room together. He twinkled, and said "We'd have about 30 seconds of a great time, first, though." His soul was kind, and he tried, he really did. But people left him, fell away from him, that was the fact of his life.
In April of 2004, he had a series of massive heart attacks, and he was never the same after that. He nearly died at that time - in fact, he was revived several times - and when I saw him a few times after I moved out to Los Angeles, I was shocked at how this once vibrant personality had become so diminished. He became old, frail, and slow. His voice became weak. It was painful to see. And in my last trip home, I never made the time to see him. I last spoke to him by phone about nine months ago. I'd moved away, like everyone else, and then today my brother called with the news. The funeral was apparently yesterday. My brother just found out about it today. Last week, I found myself thinking about him a lot - and yesterday, I asked FranIAm if she knew Joe - he was originally from Hudson, New York - she did not. Part of me thought he'd always be around, and part of me knew he was gone. He was gone long before he died, I fear.
Joe, I will miss you for a long, long time.
But this is what I remember: I met Joe in about 1991, and we became friends because Joe befriended everyone. He was big - not so much physically big, although he was tall - but I mean his personality took up space. He was loud. He loved to listen, and to challenge ideas, and he loved smart women. He was messy, and passionate, and funny, and when he spoke, his language was so circular that people got confused and could not follow him to his point - which he always made, eventually, after tangent, after tangent, after tangent. For reasons I don't understand, I could follow him. I enjoyed his enjoyment of life.
We used to go to dinner a lot, and would cover all kinds of topics - especially Judaism as I understood it, and Catholocism and catholocism - and AA, and doing well by doing good, and the spiritual principle that "you go first" making amends always, always, always. He adored his son. He adored his wife, who became his ex-wife - I can't imagine living with Joe for more than a minute, it would drive a person crazy, I am sure. He was an amazing cook. He would gather groups together to hit ten restaurants in Chicago on a given night to only have creme brulee at each. He spilled food everywhere. He made me laugh. He made me think. He was a friend.
Not everyone loved him. He could charm the birds out of the trees, he had that Irish gift of gab but his follow-through was, well, a mess. He constantly disappointed people, and he knew it. I told him once that my idea of hell was the two of us, drunk, locked in a room together. He twinkled, and said "We'd have about 30 seconds of a great time, first, though." His soul was kind, and he tried, he really did. But people left him, fell away from him, that was the fact of his life.
In April of 2004, he had a series of massive heart attacks, and he was never the same after that. He nearly died at that time - in fact, he was revived several times - and when I saw him a few times after I moved out to Los Angeles, I was shocked at how this once vibrant personality had become so diminished. He became old, frail, and slow. His voice became weak. It was painful to see. And in my last trip home, I never made the time to see him. I last spoke to him by phone about nine months ago. I'd moved away, like everyone else, and then today my brother called with the news. The funeral was apparently yesterday. My brother just found out about it today. Last week, I found myself thinking about him a lot - and yesterday, I asked FranIAm if she knew Joe - he was originally from Hudson, New York - she did not. Part of me thought he'd always be around, and part of me knew he was gone. He was gone long before he died, I fear.
Joe, I will miss you for a long, long time.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Untitled
Yesterday, I received a call at work from a man who identified himself as the son of one of my clients. He had a cheerful voice, which, as the conversation evolved, I realized was coming from shock and exhaustion.
He called to tell me his mother died at 3 AM, quite unexpectedly. That I needed to cancel the trip I'd prepared for her. He said she was all packed and ready to go. But she died. He said she'd been out walking the dog, that she thought she had a kidney stone - called the paramedics, went to the hospital, was rushed into surgery, and died from a ruptured artery in her stomach. And then he apologized to me for the inconvenience.
Yes, HE apologized to me, which further flummoxed me - I told him no, no, please, and I was so sorry for his loss - this woman was absolutely a delight. Just as lovely a person as I have ever worked with - full of vigor, and good humor. I am quite certain that her son was just sleep deprived and in shock at the loss to sound so cheerful - he said as much (cheerfully). He talked about his own son, who was to go on the elaborate trip with Grandma. It was just so sad. So sad.
No insurance. And everything (except the business class air) is in penalty. So I am scrambling to get the steepest penalties waived, AND we have to protect our commission - yes, it sounds harsh, but that's policy here. Work was done, and must be covered. My suppliers have been absolutely wonderful - they've all been quite quick in their response; one voluntarily waived the steep penalty (50%) for a more humane and reasonable flat fee. And everyone has the same reaction. Shock.
I think the real reason I'm writing this is because she absolutely lived her life full tilt. I would guess that she had absolutely no regrets (other than leaving her grandson without his Grand Europe trip). Every email, every conversation I ever had with her over the last four years was her just being full of life. Her example was just that: we don't know how much time we have, so we need to enjoy it fully. I will miss her large-print emails, and her wonderful demeanor.
What a loss.
He called to tell me his mother died at 3 AM, quite unexpectedly. That I needed to cancel the trip I'd prepared for her. He said she was all packed and ready to go. But she died. He said she'd been out walking the dog, that she thought she had a kidney stone - called the paramedics, went to the hospital, was rushed into surgery, and died from a ruptured artery in her stomach. And then he apologized to me for the inconvenience.
Yes, HE apologized to me, which further flummoxed me - I told him no, no, please, and I was so sorry for his loss - this woman was absolutely a delight. Just as lovely a person as I have ever worked with - full of vigor, and good humor. I am quite certain that her son was just sleep deprived and in shock at the loss to sound so cheerful - he said as much (cheerfully). He talked about his own son, who was to go on the elaborate trip with Grandma. It was just so sad. So sad.
No insurance. And everything (except the business class air) is in penalty. So I am scrambling to get the steepest penalties waived, AND we have to protect our commission - yes, it sounds harsh, but that's policy here. Work was done, and must be covered. My suppliers have been absolutely wonderful - they've all been quite quick in their response; one voluntarily waived the steep penalty (50%) for a more humane and reasonable flat fee. And everyone has the same reaction. Shock.
I think the real reason I'm writing this is because she absolutely lived her life full tilt. I would guess that she had absolutely no regrets (other than leaving her grandson without his Grand Europe trip). Every email, every conversation I ever had with her over the last four years was her just being full of life. Her example was just that: we don't know how much time we have, so we need to enjoy it fully. I will miss her large-print emails, and her wonderful demeanor.
What a loss.
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