Terry, Ginny, thank you from the bottom of my heart.
The original was published on Tuesday, November 10, 2009
That was 3 days after her death.
This is exactly how it was published.
Sondra, my love
My wife Sondra died last Saturday, November 7, 2009 four days prior to what would have been our 48th anniversary. The pain is terrible, but I must honor her memory in a manner in which I can store it securely and tell others how special she was.
I will start at the end.
Sondra was diagnosed with Sjogren's Syndrome about two years ago. She actually found it featured on a medical television show. Her doctor didn't want to test her for it because it is rare and he believed that it could have been just auto-suggestion from the show affecting an impressionable woman. He was wrong. After his reluctance to test for it, she insisted that he perform the tests. She was correct in her suspicion. The tests proved positive for the condition.
Compounding the problem was the added complication of Leukocytoclastic Vasculitis which manifested as a skin lesion looking like purpura and accompanied by red dots on the lower extremities which came and disappeared regularly. The severity of the spots became worse and she was forced to resort to prednisone and plaquenil which are very powerful drugs but necessary to suppress the tendency of the vessels to rupture. Eventually, she had to take a step "up" to what is considered a chemotherapy drug, methotrexate.
These drugs were necessary but terrible. Their effect suppresses the immune system and makes a sufferer prone to just about any infection.
The vasculitis affected her kidneys as we were warned. That required increasing the dosages of the powerful immunosuppressants.
Not good, but necessary.
The drugs had just begun to seemingly control the vasculitis when things went really wrong. Sondra always stayed in shape and she and I bicycled regularly on a 5 to 7 mile route on a daily basis. She happened to take a corner a bit too close and the bike bumped it and caused the mildest bruise one could imagine. A simple red area mild scrape. The bruise infected. On November 21st, 2009 while on our way to the lab to get her monthly tests for her attending rheumatologist, she began shivering violently in the car and began going into a fetal position and I told her we would be going to the emergency room instead. When admitted, her fever had risen to 103.8 and they admitted immediately.
As a result of this and while hospitalized, her fever would run to 102-103 and back to 97 within 15 minutes. Her kidneys began to shut down. Her platelet count dropped perilously low and dialysis was the only option. They dialyzed her and even had to resort to plasmapheresis to remove the toxins in her. Insertion of the catheter to access the dialysis filtering plus the pheresis was done with the usual blood thinner, heparin. But Sondra was found to have yet another rare condition, HIT.
The continuing complications took their toll. I received a call in the middle of the night telling me that she had gone into a coma and had had a massive bleed in her brain. When I asked what they could do, the answer was only ventilation and there was little hope for that. I told them to ventilate and I would be there immediately.
Sondra was nonresponsive and we spent the day just hoping. It didn't work. The doctors finally asked me to make the decision on whether to stop ventilation and just let nature take its course.
It was the most terrible moment of my life. They told me that at this point they were only prolonging death, not life. There was only one choice. As Sondra and I had both agreed and discussed many times, neither of us wanted to linger as a nonresponsive, possibly frustrated without recourse, complete invalid so I told them to remove the ventilator and her life was gone within minutes. My love went away at 4:30 PM.
Thus, the end.
The beginning!
In 1957 while at my buddy's house, I noticed a girl walking down the street. My buddy told me that it was a girl named Sondra who lived down the block. I sure liked what I saw. Short shorts and a long stride.
I had a 1947 Ford convertible and apparently Sondra was intrigued by the new hot rod parked in front of my buddy's house.
Things progressed as clumsy teenagers usually concoct for them to do and I found more and more "reasons" to go to my buddy's house. He introduced me to Sondra and we all began "hanging out" together.
My lack of experience and the hormonal changes inherent in metamorphosing from a nice geeky
bookish sort into a pathetic imitation of James Dean left me scuffing my feet in uncertainty. We all hung out and nothing happened until Sondra's 13th birthday. Yes, THIRTEENTH!
I called to wish her a happy birthday and somehow we stumbled into a date.
Oh joy! Oh frabjous joy! The girl who walked past my buddy's house in the short shorts was going to go on a date. With ME! The 16 year old drag racing clumsy jerk kid.
A few years later in high school.
So, those who have later accused me of cradle robbing have been essentially right.
But, oh the fortune. We dated for what today would be light years. And finally married on Nov. 11, 1961 in Carson City, Nevada.
And the marriage blossomed.
This girl of mine matured into the finest woman I have ever had the fortune to meet. She possessed not a shred of artifice. She was honest and sincere to a fault. She lived for me.
This rare treasure that was Sondra was not even fully appreciated by me. Whatever I wanted, she provided or allowed with no complaint. Sure we had rare moments of disagreement, but I can't recall one issue that wasn't resolved within a matter of hours. And with no resentment. She was a true jewel. I'm sure others exist, but the rarity is inestimable.
Sondra found joy in my joy. She was happy when I was. If I went to lunch with a friend, she looked forward to it. There was no "Why don't you take ME to lunch?" Her mind didn't work that way. As I recall it now from far too late, I realize just how amazingly selfless that was. I was blind to the magnitude of her character.
She was a shooter. Why was she a shooter? Because she asked me to teach her. What an easy job. In my library I still have the book I drew a diagram in. She took a look and her first shot was perfect.
She found joy in anything offered to her. A single day trip or a kind word thrilled her beyond knowing. I saw the brightness that came so easily.
The two of us in our coin business.
Those who she called friend were blessed with the most forgiving and accepting non judgmental companion they would ever find. These superlatives may be seen as hyperbole and I can understand that. Without knowing her, few would or will believe that I speak the truth. Even I can't believe the good fortune that I had found.
Today it is being borne out by the number of friends and acquaintances offering condolences in various stages of disbelief and shock.
I post on an Internet goldbug chat board and the other posters have said that they are feeling the loss as if it were their own. One sent me an email saying he has not grieved so much since his sister died 30 years ago. This sentiment from a man who was in her presence 4 times flattered me (through recognition of her importance to him) more than I can even express.
I have been astounded by the personal calls of condolence from even the physician ...consultants.. who saw her just briefly. They have commented that they have rarely seen a love like we had. I was her advocate in her final days at the hospital and did my best to make decisions and demands to bring her home if at all possible. One consultant physician even called to tell me that her primary admitting doctor was distraught the whole weekend that she passed. I asked him to tell that doctor that he would never have a patient more confident in him.
He even noted in his records the final comment she had for him, "Don't do anything I wouldn't do." That speaks volumes to her selfless character. In pure misery, she would try to cheer those around her.
God, I miss her.
My chore is now to go on without my pal. There is little incentive to do so. Suns dim and nights are gloom without my shining star.
It is said that the dying have hearing long after all else has passed. I have no idea (nor does anyone else) if that is true. But, if it is, she was not neglected in her final hours. With a ventilator doing her breathing, I continued to thank her for what she meant. If that sensation actually exists, she at least knew that she was loved by her man to an extent that she may not have known. As with many others, as I reflect now on this terrible event, I would give anything to have told her that more often.
The last night that she was with me I spent a long time rubbing her cheek with mine. She cooed in pleasure. I will always be happier with that one gesture than anything I have done in my life.
She deserved that and more.
My purpose in writing this little elegy is to have a record of the wonder and hopefully to encourage others to look at their treasures and realize when they are so fortunate. Those who knew Sondra are fortunate. She asked so little and forgave so much. Time spent with her was time well spent.
We were not Sunday sermon folks, but if there exists another place or plane, and if ...I... am found anywhere near as worthy to join her my eternity will be complete. If I arrived to where she may be now and was told that I would have to crawl the universe on my knees and assemble her individual molecules to have her back, I would only ask, "Where do I start?"
Sondra, my love...... farewell.
Other memories
Two SHORT months ago
ALL IS WELL
Death is nothing at all. I have only slipped away into the next room. I am I and you are you-
whatever we were to each other, that we are still. Call me by my old familiar name, speak to me in the easy manner we are used to. Put no difference in your tone, wear no false air of solemnity or sorrow. Laugh as we always laughed, play, smile, think of me, pray for me. Let my name be ever spoken without effort, without trace of shadow.
What is death but a negligible accident? Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight? I am but waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near, just around the corner.
All is well.
Nothing is past; nothing is lost
One brief moment and all will be as it was before.
How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting when we meet again!
Canon Henry Scott Holland 1847-1918
And that is the restoration of the blog. I'm glad it's back. These are some photos I subsequently found. I will add them now.
