First, a garden update for my records! (These photos were taken November 1).
- Squat: 95 —> 95 —> 115
- Deadlift: 125 —> 140 —> 160
- Bench: 75 —> 75 —> 80
- OHP: 55.5 —> 60 —> 65
Finally, the sad news: Sara's mom died, one month ago today. I had to go back and check my calendar, because it seems simultaneously impossible that it was only a month ago...and that it's already been a month. It happened so quickly; she checked herself into the hospital on a Thursday, Sara found out on Saturday and was with her on Sunday, and by that night she had dramatically declined, and she was on palliative care by Monday. I went up to St. Francis on Monday afternoon, assuming she would already be gone, but she was still there, albeit already in twilight, under an animal-print blanket that she had brought with her when she checked in to the hospital (along with makeup and jewelry - classic Jesusita!). Her friends Maria and Nellie were there, in addition to Sara and Zach, and it was, honestly, a really warm and loving vibe. At that point it wasn't clear how long it would be, whether she would need to be moved to hospice, etc., so we said goodbye at a certain point and went back to her mom's house. Sara went back and said a quick goodnight to her that evening when visiting hours ended, and then a couple of hours later the hospital called to say she was gone.
When we walked out to the top floor of the parking garage that evening, it was such a perfect, beautiful late October day. The dark humor in me felt compelled to note that St. Francis would now have been the place where both of her parents died, just like my parents. But I'm so glad she was able to say goodbye, and see and talk with her mom before she was too confused. And the warm feeling in that hospital room was so peaceful. If you have to say goodbye, that's the way to do it.
Since her mom died, we gathered with her family and friends for a memorial dinner at Butterfly, a Chinese restaurant that had been off-limits to her in recent times because of the sodium. For the first (and last) time in my life, I wore animal print - courtesy of a shirt lent by my colleague Elizabeth! It was another really wonderful, warm experience: meeting other of Susie's friends, her cousin Rafe, seeing Sara's cousins after so many years (Suy not since the wedding, Pedro...high school?) and listening to everyone share toasts in Susie's honor.
I told Sara, whenever we see them lately I worry that it could be the last time we get to see Oscar. Of course it didn't occur to me, when we went up to West Hartford this summer, that it would be the last time I saw her mom. But I'm so glad we did, and that she was in such good spirits (the way she welcomed Sean like a minor celebrity when he showed up was hilarious). Like my parents, I know her mom will live on not only in stories that Sara and I share, but in the stories and jokes that Sean and I tell, and re-tell, and retell. It's always a bit of a surprise to me to learn that not everyone is like that! The people we love become characters in humorous stories we play out -- most of them with people who are gone, but also my sister, because the jokes are just there. Of course it helps that Sean knew her, the same way it helps that he knew my mom and my grandfather, and that I knew Hubbard. My dad, and his grandfather, are never as fully embodied in these jokes and stories, because the knowledge is one-sided. The same way Sara's dad has always seemed a character in a story to me, because he died before she and I met.
I don't really have any conclusions here. For me, the best way to honor and remember those I love has always been to tell jokes and stories. For Susie, we will joke about the animal print, forgetting to draw on her eyebrows that one time in high school, telling us to go braless in 8th grade ("ladies, free yourselves!"), her supernatural awareness of changes to the thermostat. I will remember the pernil and the sticky rice. The toile couch, the red armchair, the knick-nacks from her many travels. And, of course, the many days and nights of friendship that centered around that house, one that she opened to her daughter's friends without complaint! Sleep well, Susie dePedro. You were and remain a legend.