The Goodbye Kiss
She complimented me on how I looked, told me I was stubborn and didn’t receive help well. She asked if I was hard of hearing. Her voice was weak. It was after midnight and my processing time was slow.
She told me not to stand too close or talk too fast, asked me to wash her toothbrushes and explained how to pour just the right amount of maple syrup for her meds, making sure I scraped the side of the spoon on the glass container so it wouldn’t drip and aimed any broken pills away from her mouth so the jagged edges didn’t hurt as they went down.
I apologized when, while trying to comb out the mat of hair on the back of her head, I accidentally bumped her sensitive skin. The following week when Joe and I returned for our overnight shift, I made sure that my nails were clipped.
I reminded her of her generosity. She had forgotten that when we first met she taught me to make hoop earrings that I sold at my friend’s bead shop. Later, she offered to do body work on me. She knew I had issues with chronic fatigue. I think she called it “angel work.” I never made the time. I wasn’t sure I believed it, or maybe I felt I didn’t have the money to pay her if she needed it.
She asked me to look for her dog Dobbins, but I couldn’t find him. He wasn’t in the laundry room where she thought he would be. Later that night, as I was drifting off to sleep on a mat on the floor next to her bed, I could hear the nearby tapping of Dobbins’ tail on the hardwood floor.
In the morning I wasn’t able to say goodbye because she was sleeping when I left. The week before that when I told her goodbye, she said, “I won’t blame you if you never come back.” “It’s a privilege to be here. I’ll be back.” I answered and then made a joke about the strong bond that’s formed after you sleep with someone. She laughed and I kissed her.
She was dying but still held out hope for healing. I felt clumsy, like a bull in her butterfly presence. I liked to remember how excited she was when she stopped me in town before she got sick and invited me into her new art gallery and how beautiful she looked at her summer solstice wedding six years before.
At her memorial celebration last night, there was laughter, storytelling, dancing and singing. It was odd to see the sunroom she died in filled with friends around a table of homemade desserts. I was standing on the porch with a group of woman talking about her and feeling that she was listening when I realized that Dobbins was standing beside me, tapping his tail against the side of my leg.
-Post note: The Healing Art of Laurelsong is HERE and HERE is a poem I wrote about her and her art.
January 8th, 2012 5:40 pm
A beautiful tribute, Colleen!
January 8th, 2012 5:44 pm
I’m so sorry to read of her death….She sounds like she was quite an amazing and wonderful person..You and Joe were so very dear to be THERE for her to the end. I feel for Dobbins—he has lost his person. Who will care for him now?
And, it sounds like she got a proper send-off….My Lord, life is so very hard sometimes….
January 8th, 2012 5:46 pm
What a beautiful tribute to Laurasong!
I wish you had been able to do the angel work she offered. Then as it turns out you did angel work for her in her dying days! xoxo
January 8th, 2012 6:14 pm
Joe and I were a very small part of her care giving team but it was BIG to me and so meaningful.
The story I wrote about her and her art for the paper is coming up next. xo
January 8th, 2012 7:54 pm
I am glad you were there, both as her caregiver through her last days and for her passing and the celebration of her life. Thank you for sharing this story, since I was not there yesterday. It means a lot to me.
January 8th, 2012 10:20 pm
Two great ladies, you and she. Thanks for sharing this.
January 9th, 2012 12:29 pm
Thanks so much – Colleen and Joe – it was a deep blessing to have your presence during these last weeks – I am crying tears of gratitude and remembrance – this transition has melted our hearts and dissolved our separation.
I hold this gratitude for all the beautiful caregivers who helped in these final weeks, for their love and patience.
And to all those who have come to celebrate, remember, give support and well wishes, and to all those who could not be here and did it from afar – thank you from the depths of my heart and from all of us here – we look forward to carrying on the actualization of her core passion with you – to bring peace, harmony, and love to all on this planet.
January 10th, 2012 12:23 pm
perfect.
January 10th, 2012 3:07 pm
What a beautiful tribute to someone who was clearly loved. I’m sorry for your loss.
January 11th, 2012 1:20 am
A mastery of sensations and feelings for LaurelSong , for who I will always feel her energy. In the beginning , we discussed much as women do, and her energy work , soothed a trauma that has been with me too many years, and which I only recently realized the import of her agility, depth and gift of healing. Even though our time was short, it was none the less , a major one, and I initially considered she might see something in my eyes to belie the hope I had (and she had) that she would prevail and so I did not sit with her. Then my Dad began his decline, and I was called away.
LaurelSong is as much a part of Floyd , still and always, as the many ‘seeds” she planted attest, she is beauty in motion, ever more.
Thank you Colleen , for your work and your words!
January 11th, 2012 2:48 pm
This is so beautiful, Colleen. Reminds me of my relationship with my husband’s mother who was already 86 when I married Jim. She died at 97.
Just a lovely write, so full of detail and heart. I bet you were her favorite!
xo