leftunspoken's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- For Kathy...on dying We're having a little picnic thing at work today. A fund raiser thing. And someone made chile con queso. (Which is actually queso con chile, but most of the country says it wrong, so I'll go with what's common.) And the chile was hot so it made my nose run. And it made me think of my cousin Kathy. Not the nose running. The chile. Because every year at Christmas, my mom would remind Erin and me to not make the queso too hot because Kathy was coming over and she loved chile con queso, but couldn't eat it if it was too hot. And it made me miss Kathy. She died last fall. At the age of 38. From Lupus. Which is a terrible disease in case you don't already know. She was sick for almost 20 years. It addition to destroying every organ in her body, it made her hear voices. Mean ones that told her to do awful things to herself. The drugs used to defend her organs, destroyed her bones. She broke like glass. Which sounds like a sad story. And it is sad, because it robbed her of many things I'm sure she would have liked to have. But it's not. Because Kathy chose to shine. She was beautiful. Kathy never met a person she didn't reach out to. She sewed blankets for her mother to take to the homeless shelter despite the pain in her hands. She was occassionally locked up in mental wards while her antipsychotic meds were being adjusted so the voices would go away. On her good days, she would visit the other patients and share God with them. She would read to them from the Bible that was always with her. She would sing to them, pray with them, or just sit keeping company. She made friends with many of the dialysis patients during the times her kidneys would stop working properly. Many of them were children. She crocheted teddy bears, and made phone calls, and wrote letters. She had a million friends. Most of them, like her, were suffering in some way. But you never would have known it. I met many of them at her funeral. Rather than have a traditional funeral, we had a gathering in the big back-yard garden at her mother's home. We talked about Kathy. Many of her friends brought things Kathy had made for them or letters she had written to offer her love and support through their painful times. We read them, and we cried, and we praised God that Kathy wasn't hurting anymore. We each collected a polished rock from the garden. We held them and shared our memories of her. We put each rock in a wooden box that my grandfather built very long ago. By the time we were done, it was overflowing with beautiful multi-colored stones reflecting our memories of Kathy. My aunt has that now. A reminder that her daughter was loved and valuable and cherished. Not that she needed a reminder. And it amazes me. One life. Measured by the lives she touched. The pains she eased. The hands she held. The memories she made. And it makes me want to dance in the streets and kiss strangers on the cheek and wish them love and happiness. It makes me want to be gentle and good and strong and helpful. Who have you touched? Who have you helped? Who have you loved? Who is a better person for having known you? Because that is it. The measure of a life is the lives that orbit it. 1:13 p.m. - June 19, 2003 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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