A House of Goodwill goodbye

I woke up the other morning to one of those texts that no one ever wants to receive.  It was from my neighbor (and friend) Teresa, telling me that her wife Pat had had a massive stroke and was in the hospital.  I got the news later that morning that Pat was gone.

For the last three days I’ve been wondering how to put this loss into words, and I still don’t feel I can even as I sit here typing this out.

It’s hard to believe that she’s really gone.  Pat had an incurable form of cancer for years, and it’s strange how even when you know that death is inevitable – and will even be sooner rather than later – somehow it still feels like a complete shock when it actually happens.

I loved Pat.  She had the best personality – she was funny and kind, always generous, and very, very real.  There were no pretenses with Pat.  You never had to wonder what Pat thought about anything.  And yet she never overwhelmed you with opinions or made you feel judged.

Pat and Teresa loved Halloween, and always decorated their house for all the neighbors' kids to enjoy.  They always had a big party the weekend before, and we could look forward to chili, apple cider and lots of candy.

My son and husband, with Teresa (left) and Pat at one of their impromptu "Hey, why don't you stay for dinner?" dinners

The Halloween house

I loved Pat for her love for animals – Pat and Teresa have had even more dogs and cats than we have.  (And that’s a lot.)  When you lose a beloved pet you always know at least 50% of the people around you will not be able to comprehend the loss at all.  Pat did.  And she was so supportive and kind when we adopted a teenage boy.

I often think that for those whose lives don’t follow the “normal” course of seemingly most everyone else’s – those whose paths don’t chart the “normal” milestones (happy childhood, marriage, children, happy retirement) – the more swerves off the path and the more losses accrued – those are often the people who show the most understanding and compassion to others.

And sometimes life just feels like a series of losses, with more endings than beginnings. 

For me, Pat is the fourth person I’ve lost in the last ten months in my phone’s contact list.  She is the second neighbor.

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about neighbors lately, as over the last several years we’ve lost many to moves and ill health.  We have always been blessed with wonderful neighbors, and it’s made me realize how much we took for granted – neighbor friends occupy a special place in one’s life.  You may not see one for a few days (or a few weeks) but you see her car, or see him out getting the mail and you stop and have one of those satisfying five minute conversations that remind you of how glad you are that they live nearby.

Neighbor friends are part of the background fabric that quietly surrounds us with a feeling of security and home.  Neighbor friends are the ones that have a key to your house; that will get your mail when you’re on vacation or feed your cat in an emergency.

I wasn’t able to see Pat much over the last couple of years.  Our young foster placement kept me tethered to the house much more – and COVID kept the world at home this year.  Pat had a compromised immune system, so even though she lived a few houses away, she wasn’t able to socialize much in the last few years.

I was running by Pat’s house a few months ago when I caught her outside.  She had lost her hair, but she looked good.  We talked about how her chemo wasn’t working anymore, and how the doctors weren’t sure what to do next.  She said she wasn’t feeling too bad.  We chatted about the neighborhood for a few minutes, and her cats.  I had no idea it was the last time I’d see her.

Black-eyed Susans in my front yard, a flower share from Teresa

As sad as I am to lose Pat, I am equally sad for Teresa.

She will be ok.  We always can choose to be, if we decide to.  But journeys of grief are lonely, and the only way out of them is to go through them.

I hope I can be a source of support, of friendship and love as she and Pat have always been to us.

Sometimes things happen that make the acts of daily living – like painting and blog posting – not seem to matter much.  It takes a while to regain equilibrium.

I have always loved this picture of Jesus.

It is the great hope of my life.

The sadness, the sickness, the insanity will all one day come to an end.

In time, He will make all things right.

When I think of goodwill, I think of friends like Pat.

She was greatly loved; she will be greatly missed.