268: Goodbye, Jane

1928

It’s really difficult to know where to start with this sort of thing.  It’s an ending, so how do you start an ending?

At the shore. 1930.

Last night, at 7:01 pm, my mother-in-law died.  We lost her years ago.  About 12 years ago.  Still, her physical death…  well, I’m sad.  We’re all sad.  I don’t know what else to say about it.  We have all been missing her for years which you would think might make it easier.  It doesn’t, not really.  And then again, I suppose it does.

Jane with her father at the shore.

If I had to sum up Jane in one word that word would be lively.  She was full of life.  And I mean full.  Jane was a woman who experienced everything with absolute attention and a positive outlook.  We would go places with her and end up spending the time with new people because Jane would invite them to join us.  She was involved.  There.  That’s the word.  Involved.

Jane was a nurse.  A wife.  A mother to four children.  A grandmother.  A woman who, even in her 70s, would ride the big roller coasters with her grandchildren.  She was a Big Sister and she volunteered for Meals on Wheels, delivering food to the elderly and housebound.  She liked to dance and sing and roller skate.  She read mysteries, worked on crossword puzzles.  She didn’t smoke or drink.  In fact, she did everything right.  Even so, she ended up with severe dementia.  It has been years since she recognized anyone, and for the past two years or so she’s been unable to speak or do things for herself.  That’s what dementia does.

I am grateful to have known Jane, to have had her liveliness in my life.  It seems like we’ve lost her twice.  Once to the dementia, and now to death.

We’ll miss you, Jane.

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