In memory of my friend Kathleen
Ben and I spent the afternoon with Kathleen and Ron on Christmas Day last year. Kathleen was diagnosed with colon cancer in early 2008 and had undergone chemotherapy, but even though she’d lost a lot of weight and looked more frail, she was as talkative as ever. She told me that she intended to live for another 20 years to see her grandchildren married, and that she’d told her doctors that their grim predictions just wouldn’t work for her.
I believed her. And I am now trying to deal with sadness from her death and guilt from not going to see her since Christmas—not even after I got the message last week that she was in hospice. The time just passed by too quickly, and I guess I’ve been floating around in denial and avoidance. She was only 57 years old.
Kathleen and I were coworkers at my last job, and though her kids are my age, we bonded over being the only non-Mormons at the corporate office. And over trains. Her husband, recently retired, was the manager at the local Union Pacific railyard and Ben is a model railroader who goes ga-ga for real trains.
They invited us to visit the railyard the last few Decembers (along with the employees’ families, who mostly come to see Santa and eat Kathleen’s cookies) so that Ben could take photos and touch the insides of a locomotive. At the railyard in 2007, I took a photo of Kathleen and Ron that she really loved. The photo was a little blurry, but she had a great big smile on her face.
We went to her memorial service this morning.Kathleen was Christian, but had not found a congregation that fit her spiritual needs since moving to Utah from Texas in the 90s. Her Mormon neighbors offered to hold the service at the local church, and it was very nice. A lot of my former coworkers were there from the company that laid me (and Kathleen) off last year. I was happier to see some more than others, but I know that Kathleen would have wanted every one of them there.
I’m not typically a crier, but I don’t have a great history of holding myself together at funerals or memorial services. I was doing okay walking into the church building, greeting Ron and his kids, until I got to the table with the guestbook and programs. Read more…
