Bye January

Today is February 1^st and I have successfully completed Dry January. This is not a humble brag but more of a humbling confession. You see, I found Dry January to be a sobering experience, but not in the way you might think. Yes, I didn’t drink alcohol for 31 days, but I did reflect a lot on drinking and what a luxury it is that I can participate in this social experiment without any serious consequences – except for a few grouchy moments. Okay, maybe a handful of grouchy moments. My sober friends, the ones who have been in recovery for many years aren’t afforded this option. Dry January is not a month and done for them and I’ve been wondering if they spent January rolling their eyes at the onslaught of memes and social media posts from temporarily sober braggarts.

Now stop rolling your eyes. I’m not here to proselytize about the virtues of not drinking – for one lousy month – and I am very much looking forward to a glass of red wine this weekend. My dear wife joked that she thought I might have a mimosa for breakfast today. It’s funny, I’m really not in a hurry to break my alcohol fast. I identify as a social drinker, but I do hesitate a bit when filling out that assessment at the doctor’s office – How often do you have a drink containing alcohol? No one wants to be judged, right? And besides, it’s like your weight on your driver’s license – you can be creative.

Like many folks, I decided to attempt Dry January as a reset after the debauchery of the holidays. And to be honest, my drinking frequency had increased during the pandemic and this seemed like a good time to try to return to a more moderate normal. I long ago gave up New Year’s resolutions – they have such a high failure rate and I don’t need that kind of negativity in my life. I transitioned to intentions years ago – besides, it’s a kinder, gentler word. And since Dry January only involved a very limited time, I thought I’d give it a shot, pardon the pun. Honestly, the first several days were surprisingly easy – I didn’t even think about drinking. Not thinking about the two boxes of Thin Mints in the freezer was a lot harder. And then I went to a dinner party – my first real test. In preparation, I bought a four pack of Guiness 0 – a non-alcoholic beer. I’m a wine drinker, but I knew I could never tolerate faux wine and the Guiness product promised the same iconic taste as the original brew. Umm, no offense to my Irish mates, but not so much. It looks exactly the same, but that first sip is a real buzz kill. But I was in it to win it and I sipped on my beer while my friends enjoyed some fine wine. The food and conversation were delicious and I didn’t think twice about not drinking.

Note: Drinking non-alcoholic beverages can be a slippery slope for those in recovery – another luxury I had while doing Dry January.

**An acquired taste – the fourth one’s the charm**

A 2021 survey showed that the average American only lasted 10 days into Dry January and one in ten gave up by January 3^rd. I guess we are a nation of quitters, except when it comes to drinking. This survey also noted the most common “first fail” day was the first Friday and that Fridays in general had nearly twice as many drinkers as any other day of the week. This tracks with me because the hardest day I had was the third Friday night last month. That’s when we had a wicked cold snap. I had made a nice dinner for me and my wife and we were settling in by the fireplace to watch a movie. The only thing missing was a nice glass of red wine. I was craving it – maybe even lusting after it. I wanted that glass of wine, but I remembered that I was three weeks in and highly invested in Dry January by now. I popped open another Guiness 0 and to my surprise, it tasted better than the first one. Still not great, but not bad.

**My friend Kristin slayed Facebook with** **this post the evening of the insurrection on January 6, 2021.** **Hall of Fame!**

I thought I would sail through the home stretch and the final week or so of this challenge. I was foolish. I forgot that life does indeed come at you fast. The last full week in January, both of my brothers-in-law were hospitalized. My wife’s brother was very ill from complications from his third liver transplant and my sister’s husband had a dicey bout with sepsis from a surgery and ended up in the hospital for a few days. It was a stressful time for my family and I wanted that feeling I get from the first sip of a glass of wine – that gentle hum of relaxation. I really, really wanted a glass of wine. So, I opened the third can of Guiness 0 and guess what? I actually almost liked it. And no, Total Wine did not sponsor this blog post, but if you have any connections, I’m listening.

That week was when I thought about my sober friends a lot – and how they have gotten through years and years of stressful things without having a drink. I’ve always admired these folks and some of them are the most genuine people I know – maybe overcoming great adversity is part of that. I often forget that they are in recovery, but I know they never do. They don’t have that option and I wondered if Dry January made them want to hide some ninnies on social media. So, I reached out to my dear friend Jimmy, who like his darling husband, has been in recovery for many years. Jimmy is a counselor so I should have known that his response would be thoughtful and caring. He told me that as someone who works with people struggling with addiction and recovery every day, he sees Dry January as a good way for folks to experiment with sobriety. He explained that “maybe they have a problem, maybe they don’t, but the experiment could lead to a deeper understanding of their relationship with alcohol. Someone may discover they actually feel better not drinking and make choices based on that new information. At least that’s my hope.” Jimmy is nicer than me and I’m so glad he’s using his many gifts as a counselor these days.

Our conversation made me contemplate how I felt not drinking. I think maybe I didn’t want to admit that I did feel better – that I slept more soundly and had more energy in the morning. I can’t give you any empirical data to support this, I can just tell you how I felt. It’s like that feeling you get in early September after weeks of slogging through heat and humidity and you open your front door and there it is – a crispness in the air. The world looks a bit more in focus and you just feel lighter. For me, not drinking felt like fall. I love fall, but I also love red wine, so I know my sobriety is soon coming to an end. That said, I do think I will be more intentional about drinking – particularly about when and how much – and I feel good about that. And I’ll be damned – I’ve even acquired a taste for Guiness 0.

I guess sometimes, in moderation, less really can be more. Slainte!

**January was sunny and dry – February is looking damp.**

When grace purrs

Sometimes, if you’re really lucky, grace can find you in a parking lot. That’s what happened to me almost 17 years ago when somebody picked up a scrawny feral tabby kitten and dropped it off at my veterinarian’s clinic. A friend who knew I was considering adopting a kitty was in the vet’s office that week and saw her. She immediately thought of me and picked me up to “just” have a look and, well, you know how that turned out. I had to say goodbye to my furry best friend a few weeks ago and my heart still feels like a bag of sawdust. I know you know.

The staff at the vet’s office had named her Tiffany because the markings around her neck resembled a necklace. I appreciated their creativity, but that sounded like a stripper name to me. And besides, I have a tradition of naming cats after towns in Maine. My first cat as a grown-up was named Kittery and she lived to be almost 20. I love Maine and it just feels like a good luck charm to give a kitty a Maine name. I settled on Castine – Cassie for short. A cat’s name should be very singable and Cassie fit the bill perfectly. The vet’s office had estimated that her birthday was March 17^th – St. Paddy’s Day – another good omen.

**Cassie, the cat, not a stripper, wore her necklace well for almost 17 years.**

Our first night together, I lost her. Well, she lost me to be more accurate. She was frightened and crawled into a tiny opening in the back of an end table drawer. I gathered a search party of a handful of friends and we scoured my house for an hour before I pulled out the drawer and found her – a tiny furry ball in the corner. I put her in my bed that night and that’s where she slept for the first few years. We quickly bonded – she let me pet her but she was never happy being in my lap. Spending your first formative months in a parking lot had to be tough, so I respected her boundaries. Funny sidebar: Cassie never looked back once she became an inside cat. I could have left all the doors in the house wide open all night and she would never even step on the threshold. Unlike Adele, Cassie was never going to say hello from the outside again.

But here’s the thing, you can take the kitty out of the parking lot, but it’s really hard to take the parking lot out of the kitty. Cassie was always sweet to me, but she was never going to win Miss Congeniality (understatement). Her standard greeting to other people was a wicked hiss – very intimidating and rather impressive coming from a relatively tiny body. Most of my friends were terrified of her which presented a challenge when I needed someone to feed her when I was out of town. Luckily, my devoted friends Barb and Linda were brave enough to volunteer for this daunting assignment. They have a really good sense of humor and have a running gag of staging two Barbie dolls, the “girls” as they are known, at special occasions like Super Bowl parties and birthdays. One year, I was on the way home from spending time with my sister when Barb and Linda texted me a picture of the Barbies, bloodied and bandaged, with an update on Cassie. I almost cracked a rib laughing and I will never delete that photo from my phone.

**Emergency Room Barbies -that time the girls took care of Cassie.**

Cassie had no use for other animals either. In fact, she could literally scare the shit out of them. My dear friend Lynn has a darling Shih Tzu named Cagney who is the sweetest and friendliest creature on four legs. One day years ago, Lynn and Cagney were over – Lynn was fixing something for me in another room – and Cagney jingled into the sunroom – not seeing that Cassie was perched by the corner of the couch. Cassie released a long chilling hiss and Cagney leapt into the air and out popped one dainty little turd. I did a swift pickup with a paper towel and it was years before I shared the story with Lynn because I knew she would have been mortified.

**Who could blame Cagney? Cassie came from a long line of fierce.**

I always warned people to simply ignore Cassie when they came over – don’t make eye contact I would tell them. Most people thought they would be the one to win her over. Oh, they were so foolish. A mere human is no match for a cat with an attitude. My dear wife was one of the few who took my counsel to heart. Cassie was six when we started dating and my wife literally did not look at her for the first couple of months we were together. And then she started feeding her – a very wise strategy. Also, Cassie never liked big energy – she was less threatened by people who were calm and peaceful – like my wife. She hated my sister (see WAY BIG ENERGY) – which was sad because my sister adores cats. When I told my sister that I was marrying my wife, the first thing she said to me was, “Thank God. Now I won’t have to take care of Cassie if anything happens to you.” True story.

Cassie may have been challenging (okay, threatening) to others, but she was my cat and I was her person. She was my touchstone through some turbulent times and while I might have been making a mess of my life, she was the one constant I could count on, offering me unconditional love every day. She always seemed to know when I needed her to pay more attention to me. I remember times when I was alone and feeling sad and I’d be lying on the couch and she would jump up and lay on the curve of my hip. I couldn’t tell if it was me or her purring when she did that. And she would often be waiting for me in the front window when I came home from work. Her bright eyes saved me on some dark nights.

“*A silky ball of fur inhabitated by a purr.”* ~ Source unknown

Cassie made me laugh, too. She talked a lot and we talked to each other a lot. And my wife and I made up lots of Cassie songs – changing the lyrics to well-known tunes. One of our favorites was Copacabana – Her name was Cassie, she was a show kitty – you know the rest. And whenever we were traveling somewhere we usually gave Cassie a nickname to match our destination. When we went to the British Isles this past summer, Cassie became Cassie O’Lassie. The best one was when we went to Paris and Cassie’s name for the weeks leading up to our departure was Cassoulet. We were so amused with ourselves and Cassie mildly tolerated our shenanigans.

Here’s another true story. The first Thanksgiving we were together, my wife and I went to Columbus, OH to visit Big Energy sister. We were in a beautiful gift shop in German Village the day after Thanksgiving – Christmas decorations were up and holiday music was playing. It could have been the setting for a Hallmark movie. We were standing close to each other and I whispered to my wife, “I want to live with you.” She responded immediately, “Then come live with me. Besides, no one is going to buy your house with Cassie in it.” She was right and Cassie and I packed up the U-Haul and moved to Winston Salem from Greensboro.

**Facebook memories are crushing me these days.**

That was the last time Cassie was in a car until a few weeks ago. Getting her into a cat carrier was like capturing Saddam Hussein. I was lucky that she was never sick and rarely was exposed to other animals, so I did not subject her – or me – to regular vet visits. In late October, we noticed that she was not eating her dry food. We figured she had grown tired of it as cats are known to do sometimes. She was still eating her wet food with gusto and acting normally – even getting the zoomies a couple of times a week. And then I noticed that her mouth looked a little funny and she was drooling – something was wrong. I googled all of these symptoms and concluded she must have a bad tooth. A good friend, who is a veterinarian and a crazy cat lady in all the best ways, referred me to her vet. And I will never be able to thank her enough for that. So, I made an appointment with Dr. Fox – what a great name for a vet – and my wonderful wife rearranged her schedule to leave work a couple of hours early to help me. Our plan to take Cassie by surprise and get her into the carrier was as intricate as the invasion of Normandy. My wife would text me when she left work, then I would quietly but swiftly lift Cassie off of our bed and into the carrier that was sitting on the bedside table. My wife would be in front of our condo with the engine running. We had one chance – there are no do-overs when it comes to capturing a cat.

**Why must you always take pictures of me?**

Looking back on it now, I think Cassie knew her days were numbered. She was not very upset when I nabbed her and only cried a little bit when I put her in the backseat so I could sit by her while my wife drove. Her eyes were as big as saucers, but I kept talking to her and she seemed surprisingly calm. We were lucky that there were no other animals in the waiting room and we were led to an exam room right away. Cassie was okay until the very sweet vet tech came in and introduced himself. He barely got his name out when she startled him with her signature hiss. Fortunately, he was able to control his bowels and asked us several questions. He told us he would take her to the back to weigh her and then the vet would examine her. A few minutes later, we heard what sounded like a small mountain lion screaming. Cassie was having no part of that plan.

Dr. Fox, who looks like a warmer, more huggable version of Nicole Kidman, came in and introduced herself and told us that she would not be able to examine Cassie while she was conscious. No kidding. She told us she would put her in an induction chamber and she would quickly fall asleep and then she could take a look inside her mouth. She left us and then we heard some more screeching – Cassie was not going down without a fight – and then an eerie quiet. Dr. Fox returned and showed us pictures inside Cassie’s mouth. Her teeth were fine, but she was concerned with a thickened area below the gum line of Cassie’s lower left jaw that looked like it could be a growth that is usually cancer.

Fucking cancer. I could feel my heart pounding and I tried not to cry. I knew I needed to have my wits about me to make the best decision for Cassie. Dr. Fox left to do some x-rays and I knew then that I was not going home with my cat. I had already decided that I would not consent to any invasive measures to prolong her life. You see, in one of life’s cruel ironies, my mother died 21 years ago from an oral cancer. She was in unfathomable pain, lost 50 pounds and at the end, could not even swallow water. Oh, and don’t forget the rounds of chemo and radiation that ravaged her body.

Dr. Fox came back to us with the “I have really bad news” look on her face. She gently told us that as she had thought, Cassie most likely had osteosarcoma, an aggressive bone cancer not uncommon in older cats. The x-ray was absolute – we could see the mass in her little jaw. Dr. Fox told us that all treatments would be palliative and that none of them were good. She explained that it was a painful and rapidly growing cancer that would eventually start to eat away at the bone. No. No. No. I was grateful and resolute that I could do for Cassie what I could not do for my mother.

I had to sign some consent forms and choose a container for Cassie’s ashes. Dr. Fox explained what would happen when they brought Cassie back to us and then she said she was so sorry to have met us under these circumstances. Gulp. That’s when we shared a hug. Why can’t our doctors be as compassionate as every veterinarian I’ve ever met? Another tech tenderly carried Cassie in on a blanket and asked if I wanted her in my lap. That made smile – I wasn’t going to make Cassie sit in my lap at the end of her life. So, I put my head next to her on the cold metal table and whispered softly into her ear and held her head while Dr. Fox gave her two injections. And just like that, Cassie was gone. It was all very peaceful and she looked like she was enjoying one of her many extended naps. They told us to take our time with her and to simply open the door leading to the back when we were ready to leave. My wife petted her a little and with a cracking voice said, “She’s so soft.” I kissed her on the head one last time and we left with the empty carrier.

**I hope Kitty Heaven looks just like this.**

It was a grey and chilly evening when we walked into our dark condo with no kitty in the window. And we cried our eyes out. And then we cried some more and shared a bottle of wine and a bag of popcorn and we had a little wake of sorts for our loved one. We told lots of Cassie stories and looked at pictures on our phones. I called my sister and we texted with some close friends.

The first morning without her was the worst. The silence was deafening – Cassie usually sang the song of her people when she heard us stirring in the bedroom. I’ve had plenty of second thoughts about my decision, but I know that bringing her home for a few more weeks would have been selfish. It is a thin line between guilt and grief, but in the end, we can only hope we do right by our faithful companions.

She’s been gone three weeks now and I still keep thinking I hear her patrolling the perimeter at night. It comforts me to think it is her – just making sure we’re okay. I guess some people would say that I rescued Cassie, but we all know that it was the other way around.

**She’s still watching out the front window for me**.

**Wishing you all a very Cassie Christmas**!

Fly me to the moon

The feel like temperature outside today is 101, so it seems like the perfect time to share some reflections on my recent trip to Iceland. Ice…land. I feel cooler just saying it.

Anyway, I’m too stupefied by this heat to write long sentences – in short, Iceland is weird and wonderful. I loved it and I want to tell you about it.

Getting there

That special they just closed the cabin door look. #winning

My dear wife and I flew Icelandair direct from Raleigh Durham to Reykjavik, the capital city of Iceland. Why are American airlines so crappy? We traveled coach, as we usually do, and I swear the seats were bigger and there was definitely more leg room than on US carriers. And all the flight attendants were blonde and beautiful. I’m just reporting the facts. You can purchase food on Icelandair but no meals are included, which I think is a great idea. Just the smell of airplane chicken wafting down the aisle makes me nauseous. I’m a pescetarian and the veggie meals on US airlines are basically 50 Grains of Orzo. Keep your crappy food and I’ll pack my own snacks. Thanks, Nabs.

I’m a big fan of happy marriage – and cake. Icelandair snacks slay!

One more note relating to travel: This was my first trip with my new 19” international carry-on bag and I’m hooked. It was easy breezy and nothing can get lost in your suitcase because there’s just nowhere for it to hide. And bonus – you have way less laundry to do when you get home. In the past, carry-on bags were a trigger for me. Over the years, I have been clunked in the head by so many unconcerned men in Dockers rushing to get their bags down because they are so much more important than me. The colossal delays in airports post-Covid motivated me to seek help on this issue. Thanks, Kohl’s.

WELCOME TO REYKIAVIK

Jurassic Park – Iceland Edition

Keflavik International Airport is the largest airport in Reykjavik and has one terminal and 14 gates. I think it would be hard to get stressed out in this airport. I mean there’s even a giant dinosaur egg sculpture outside of the airport to welcome you. It’s about a 45-minute drive from the airport into the city of Reykjavik – population around 140,000, about 116,000 less than Winston Salem, NC where I reside. The entire population of Iceland is 375,318 – the whole country! Iceland is about the same size as the state of Kentucky. This completes the factoid section of this post and you can think of me kindly when you slay on Jeopardy!.

The trip into the city makes you feel like you’re driving on the moon – not that I’ve ever done that, but you’ve seen Apollo 13. All you see is miles and miles of lava fields – no trees, no animals, just miles and miles of dark rocks and craters created by the eruptions of Iceland’s 38 volcanoes. Volcanoes in Iceland you say? Yep, that is how Iceland became known as the land of fire and ice. Most of Iceland’s volcanoes are not active but one did erupt this past July. I’m sure you can find some tourist selfies on Instagram. What could go wrong?

Our hotel room was not yet available, which was probably good. If you’ve ever traveled internationally, you know the worst thing you can do after an overnight flight is to lay down, so we stashed our bags and headed downtown. We had the dumb luck to be in Reykjavik on what had to be the best day of the year. It was sunny and 65 degrees – the average high in August is 55. The natives were downright giddy in their shorts and t-shirts. I do hope they applied their sunscreen liberally – Icelanders are astonishingly white.

REYKJAVIK HIGHLIGHTS

**Hallgrimskirkja, easy for you to say, is the tallest church building in Iceland and can be seen all over the city.**

Perlan – Wonders of Iceland is a huge glass dome standing between six large tanks. One tank is filled with hot water for the city by means of geothermal energy. It has a very Lost in Space vibe.

**The famous northern lights put on quite a show when reflected by the glass panels of Harpa.**

Harpa is a beautiful concert hall and convention center on the harbor that features a colored glass façade inspired by the basalt landscape of Iceland.

Iceland is crazy about cats – kattar in Icelandic – and they roam freely all over the city – including shops. There’s even an Icelandic reality show called Keeping Up With the Kattarshians. You see what they did there?

Sun Voyager is a striking sculpture that is a tribute to the Icelandic Viking History. I thought it looked like a chorus line of reindeer.

Laugavegur is the main shopping street in the city and features Rainbow Street, a permanent piece of art painted by local residents. Iceland is a very gay friendly country and we saw rainbow flags in many rural areas. Thank you, Iceland. It matters.

CHASING WATERFALLS

**Kirkjufellsfoss Waterfall** **– Icelandic spelling bees must be really hard**

It is estimated that there are as many as 10,000 waterfalls in Iceland and I’m not going to argue with that number because we saw hella waterfalls once we left the city.

**Hraunfossar Falls – water so blue it looks like a putt-putt water hazard**

They were all beautiful but the money shot was the famous Golden Waterfall of Gullfoss and on a clear day the mist from the falls creates a huge rainbow. And guess what? We had a spectacular day. Seriously, our Iceland travel karma was off the charts.

**Gullfoss – The Big Daddy of Icelandic waterfalls**

I’M ON A BOAT

**On a clear day you can see glaciers – but no stinking puffins**.

We sailed around Breioafjorour Bay on a Viking Sushi Cruise. We didn’t see any Vikings – or puffins – which was the main reason my motion sickness challenged wife slapped on a patch 24 hours before getting on a boat. Puffins are fickle bastards and so far they have eluded us in Maine, Alaska, the British Isles and now Iceland. We seem to always arrive a day late and they have already departed for the winter. I’m beginning to think we have a better shot at a Big Foot sighting than seeing a colony of puffins. Fortunately, my wife is a good sport – I mean she married me, right – and was happy she saw four of them in the distance running to catch their flight to the open waters of the Atlantic. I did see lots of sushi after the trawling nets were dumped out and the crew popped open some deliciousness for us. Now that’s fresh.

WE SAY GEYSER, THEY SAY GEEZER

Iceland is crazy with geothermal activity. It has something to do with tectonic plates bringing heat and magma (not MAGA) closer to the earth’s service. It’s not unusual to be driving along and see clouds of steam rising out of the ground. And they put all of this activity to good use – over 85% of all houses in Iceland are heated with renewable energy sources. A guide in a power plant we visited told us that her electric bill is usually around $14 a month – maybe a bit higher in the winter. And get this – the busiest streets and sidewalks in Reykjavik are heated in the winter – no shoveling snow.

If a geyser erupts and no one snaps a photo, does it even count? Stokkur blows every 6-10 minutes.

The geothermal pools are groovy but the real showstoppers are the fountain geysers that erupt on a regular basis. Icelanders pronounce geyser as geezer and well, that makes it even more fun. My wife was absolutely mesmerized by the eruptions and the first time the big one went off, she cheered and giggled with two Asian women for a long time. They didn’t speak any English but geyser geeks share a universal language.

Blue Lagoonies

This is your spa on drugs

Our last day ended with a big blue splash in the warm, milky waters of The Blue Lagoon. This geothermal spa located in a lava field is the most popular attraction in Iceland. Duh. It began as a pool of wastewater from a geothermal plant when someone was brave or stupid enough to take a dip in the toasty azure water. People found that soaking in the rich mineral content of the water was helpful for many conditions and I’m a believer. We were in the water for about two hours and nothing on my whole body hurt. It was one of those rare communal experiences in life when everyone – toddlers to grandmas – were having the time of their lives. It was Mother Nature’s cocktail party and the dress code was casual – a goofy smile on your muddy face.

BE WARM, BE WELL

**Iceland leaves you a bit gobsmacked at times.**

We absolutely loved Iceland and to be fair, I’m sure our absurdly good weather during our visit didn’t hurt. We never even opened our umbrellas. We had no rain – in Iceland! I packed a fleece and only wore it on our boat trip. When we were going through passport control at the airport on our way home, the agent went through the regular questions – “What was your reason for your visit?” “Vacation,” we answered. He then asked us how we liked Iceland. We replied enthusiastically, “We loved it!” He smiled and said, “Well, we would love to have you come back but you will not have this weather.” Duly noted.

I think we would have loved Iceland even if the weather had been more seasonal. Iceland is so unpretentious – it never tries too hard to impress you. It simply lets its magnificent, sea swept landscapes and natural beauty woo you. There’s a freedom and unspoiled wide openness about Iceland that you don’t find many places. And it is so wonderfully weird with all of its geothermal mojo going on. I think if Iceland were a movie, it would be directed by Wes Anderson with a soundtrack by The Talking Heads.

“Be warm, be well” is a saying you see all over Iceland and those words felt as genuine to us as all of the Icelanders that we met. So, if you get a chance, pack a tiny bag, throw in some snacks and a rain jacket – just in case – and shoot for the moon. Iceland rocks!

May it be so, dear Icelanders.

**You know you’re in Icleand when a street name is longer than a bus.**

**Keep flying your freak flag, Iceland. We love you** **just the way you are.**

She’s being followed by a moonshadow

“I’m dying.”

That’s what my dear friend Lynn said when she called me on the last Monday in February. She had just returned home from a visit with her oncologist who had given her the shattering news that her already grim prognosis of three to four months to live had abruptly changed to weeks and that she was being released into hospice care. Her doctor was on point – she died exactly three weeks later, two days before her 68^th birthday. What happened in those 21 days in between was one of the most transcendent experiences of my life. Lynn took me to the thin place between this life and the next one and I hope I never get over it.

This is the story of how I got there.

**Lynn, Joy and Kathy (Lynn’s wife) on our wedding day** **in May of 2014.**

I became friends with Lynn through marriage – she and my wife Joy were best friends for almost 25 years, so, when I got Joy, I also got Lynn – a way better gift than monogrammed towels. She was diagnosed with ovarian cancer in the spring of 2017 and underwent surgery followed by chemotherapy. She lost her hair and felt like shit. The past six years, she was on the fickle rollercoaster of good scans/bad scans and endured several more rounds of chemo. Fuck cancer. But cancer doesn’t get to steal Lynn’s story – I just needed to give you some context.

Lynn’s Facebook post after she got the dire news in January. She always was a straightshooter.

In January, Lynn’s oncologist told her that her tumors were aggressively growing – even while being blasted by chemo – and Lynn had only a few months to live. I picked her up from her appointment that day and she delivered the news to me straight – no chaser. That was Lynn’s style. I felt like I was in a movie – a bad one – as I grasped for something remotely lucid to utter. I’m sure my knuckles were white on the steering wheel when I heard her say, “I’ve started planning my funeral.” I know that my voice cracked when I replied, “Make it a damn good one.” She nodded her head slowly and said, “Yep. I deserve that.” And she got one on par with Queen Elizabeth, but more or that later.

Kathy and Lynn in happier times -ringing the bell after Lynn’s first round of chemo was completed on the day after Christmas in 2017.

We always assumed that Lynn would eventually die from her cancer and it was a faint undercurrent to our time together, but she kept making plans and we were on board for them. In the last year or so, her bad days far outnumbered her good ones and this past Christmas, Joy wondered out loud if it might be Lynn’s last. I didn’t have to say anything as my dear wife read my dark face. But that’s the thing about hope – it’s the last one to leave the party – and we made the most of our holiday time with her. Looking back on it now, fate was kind to us. Lynn and her wife Kathy spent several hours with us on Christmas Eve when their power went out during a wicked cold snap. Lynn sat bundled up in her puffy coat by the fireplace in our living room for three hours – talking, laughing and drinking hot chocolate. Thank you, Duke Energy.

Christmas seemed so far way when Lynn called Joy on a Saturday morning in mid-February and said she needed to go to the ER – her pain had reached an unbearable level. Kathy couldn’t take her because she had been up all night with a stomach virus. Can you say piling on? Joy was with Lynn for several hours until she was admitted. Tests and scans revealed that the gruesome pain was being caused by the tumors obstructing her kidneys. A few days later in the hospital, Lynn and Kathy were faced with a Sophie’s Choice – either die in a few days from kidney failure or have a nephrostomy – a surgical procedure to make an opening from the outside of the body to drain the urine into tubing attached to a bag. The doctors said this procedure would give Lynn a few more months.

I think Lynn had already made peace with dying, but she had some things she wanted to take care of before she checked out, so she opted for the surgery and returned home a few days later with her “pee purses” – her words – in tow. Lynn had a penchant for accessories and we were grateful, as always, for her indomitable sense of humor. She needed that in spades a few days later when her oncologist delivered the death knell – even with the nephrostomy, her time on earth was down to weeks, not months.

That’s when she called me and we boarded the L-Train to Parts Unknown. It was a group tour with our tribe – Lynn, our tour director, Kathy, our friends Lori and Sue, and our other Lynn. One of the many gifts of being gay, at least in my experience, is creating your own family. This unit doesn’t always preclude your biological family, but this is the family that doesn’t vote against you in every election, the family that loves you unconditionally, the family that knows and loves you for who you are – regardless of pronouns. And I know you don’t have to be gay to have this kind of family, but I do think that my people have perfected the concept. After all, we’ve had centuries of practice.

**Lynn and me back in the day when we robbed banks together.**

Lynn had one sibling, a sister, who we shall refer to as Cruella for simplicity’s sake, and they were estranged for some time before Lynn’s death. But Lynn’s other family, her heart family, was huge – in fact, about 40 folks formed the processional (Lynn’s idea) behind Kathy at her memorial service. I didn’t know all of my other family members, but I do know that we were all damn proud to be in that number.

When Joy finished work on that woeful Monday night, we went to Lynn’s house, not knowing what to expect. And there she was in her recliner in her sunroom looking like she was ready to host book group. She had a beatific look on her face as she announced, “I’ve decided that I want to die on the same day as Jimmy Carter, so we can hold hands and jump together.” We didn’t see that coming (understatement). And that was pretty much every day until she died – one astonishing conversation after another. Oh, and President Carter, she’s waiting for you.

There were joyful surprises along the way, too. Kathy’s niece Dani and her wife Cat flew in from Iowa the very next day to spend time with Lynn and help with 101 things. I had never met them but was immediately smitten when I picked them up at the airport. They are in their late 30’s – lovely, bright and brimming with possibilities. I soon nicknamed them “the kittens” because they were so cute, sweet, and far removed from sickness and death. We all just wanted to pet them. They stayed for ten days with the promise to return for Lynn’s memorial service. And they did.

**The Kittens – Cat (yes, her real name) and Dani in front of Lynn’s favorite tree.**

Lynn continued to lean into her death, giving us the glorious gift of celebrating her life while she was still with us. And boy, did we. The first Saturday in March, we held a surprise drive-by parade for Lynn. We had originally scheduled it for two weeks later – right before her birthday – but we were keenly aware that time was not on our side. We weren’t sure how many folks would be able to come on such short notice so we were gobsmacked when about 40 enthusiastic friends turned out with festive decorations and signs. There were even leprechauns! It was an unusually warm day for early March and a camp chair at the edge of her yard served as Lynn’s review stand.

**No one was going to rain on Lynn Parsley’s parade.**

Everyone blew their horns and cheered – Kathy had prepared the neighbors on their cul-de-sac for the shenanigans. Each car stopped when it reached Lynn and everyone got out and hugged her. Most of them cried, but Lynn never did. She held their hands as they stooped down to her level and she looked into their eyes, and said things like, “I’ll see you on the other side.” Later that evening, Kathy told us that Lynn had been reflecting on the day and said, “I’m already in heaven.”

Our tribe has a monthly supper club, only we call it Cabana Night. That was my idea because the first one actually took place in a cabana. It’s the highlight of every month and Lori and Sue host and give everyone an assignment. And there’s always a theme. Always. Sometimes, there are even costumes. We’ve had almost 60 by now and we knew we had to give Lynn a final one. Lori and Sue had been out of town for a week when I informed them that they would be hosting a dinner party on the evening after the parade. I’m just that kind of friend. I broke the news to them on the phone while driving and by the time I got to their house – about a 15-minute drive – Sue had already selected a theme – Campfire Girls – and the e-vites went out within the hour. Never doubt what a few committed lesbians can accomplish on short notice. I think Margaret Mead said that.

We didn’t have s’mores, but we went through three boxes of Girl Scout cookies.

See: Eating your feelings.

Parade day had been a lot for all of us – most especially Lynn. She was feeling nauseous from her pain meds when she arrived for dinner and sat in Kathy’s car for a long time with her eyes closed. None of us dared to say it out loud, but I’m fairly certain we were all thinking the same thing – what an idyllic way that would be for Lynn to depart this earthly life after such a glorious day. She rallied and made it inside to the couch where she stayed for the duration. We took turns sitting with her during dinner and when it was my shift, she asked me if I would give the eulogy at her memorial service. Gulp. I told her it would be the honor of my life.

My dear wife had been terrified that Lynn was going to ask her to do it because she knew she would never have the composure to get through it. Lynn laughed when Joy confessed her fear and assured her that she would never put her best friend through that. A visibly relieved Joy told Lynn she thought she might ask Jack, her male best friend, and Lynn laughed again and said, “Are you kidding? He cries more than you.” I’ll tell you this – you may not choose Joy or Jack to give your eulogy, but you couldn’t make finer selections for best friends. Lynn knew that and I like to think she knew that I could deliver the eulogy she deserved.

**Lynn in her happy place – smack dab in the middle of her tribe.**
**Photo: Back row – left to right: Lori, Joy, Kathy, Lynn and Sue. Front row – Cat, Dani and our other Lynn. Big head: Me.**

She was only able to eat a deviled egg that night, but she smiled a lot. We all did, especially when we toasted her. We had decided prior to dinner that every toast that evening would be the same – Lynn Parsley Forever! And we were ridiculously pleased with ourselves when we added the Wakanda hand signal and crossed our arms over our chests each time we raised our glasses. That toast may be the only one we ever need.

**Lynn Parsley Forever!**
**We gave** **Lynn the Wonder Woman accessories before her surgery in June of 2017.**
**I think she liked them.**

Kathy and Lynn’s sunroom was busier than a Trailways bus station during Lynn’s last few weeks. She had visitors day and night – friends from third grade, sorority sisters, half of Ardmore – the beautiful neighborhood she lived in for 25 years. Kathy was the traffic cop and would gently try and steer folks out who were staying too long. Only one snag – Kathy is Norwegian, she’s terminally polite and gracious, and bouncer is just not a good fit for her. Keep in mind that Lynn was in great pain – in spite of heavy-duty narcotics – during a lot of this time. She somehow managed in-person goodbyes to her book club, her movie group and her not so small small group which she led for several years. Once again, she left most of them sobbing while she kept smiling.

Lynn selected this photo for her obituary. She was a very witty girl.

There were some lighthearted moments, too. Lynn was a bit of hoarder – not in a nasty way – she just had a lot of stuff and she was determined to give away a lot of it before she died. She was the Imelda Marcos of Skechers shoes – she had over 50 pairs. She liked matching her shoes to her outfit. I mean, who doesn’t? We wore the same size and she was delighted to give me first dibs. One problem – I am married to a minimalist and we live in a small condo with limited closet space. And honestly, I’ve never felt a need for pink shoes. I took a few pairs, but I know I’ll never fill her shoes.

**The more smiles change, the more they stay the same. I’d know that sweet one anywhere.**

And there was that magical Friday night when the universe conspired to give us one last perfect evening. Lori and Sue had dropped by for a brief visit with Lynn but found her sleeping, so they didn’t stay. Lynn was not at all happy that she had not been awakened to see them. “I’m not dead yet,” she barked to Kathy and the Kittens. Kathy called Lori and Sue – who had just arrived home – and sheepishly asked them to come back. And, of course, they did. Meanwhile, Joy and I had gone out for a bite to eat for the first time in weeks and as we were finishing dinner, we got a text from Lynn, which simply said, “Come over if you want to.” We practically ran to our car. And when we walked into the sunroom, there was Lynn holding court in her recliner – not looking at all like someone who was going to die in 10 days. Her pain was stable and she looked like, well, Lynn. And then she directed Kathy to open a special bottle of prosecco – her favorite – that was in the fridge. The party was on and we felt like a giddy pack of unchaperoned 8^th graders.

Time stood still that Friday night – or at least we weren’t aware of it. Lynn didn’t feel sick and we didn’t feel sad. Cancer was just an astrological sign and not a serial killer. We were all kittens that night – playful in the moment – no aches, pains, or worries. It was our Make a Wish dream come true and Lynn’s sunroom was our Disneyworld. I took a photo of Lynn that night that I have looked at almost every day since she died. It reminds me to be present in the moment. We all stayed late that night and when I got home, I texted Lynn and thanked her for showing us that sacred and mysterious space between life and death. She texted back, “It’s been a great ride.” I didn’t want the night to be over, but when I finally drifted off to sleep, I knew I was still smiling.

We texted a lot during those last few weeks and it will be a very long time before I delete those messages. One of the best nights was “watching” the Oscars with her. My wife usually makes it through the first award and heads to bed, so it was so fun to share snarky comments with Lynn throughout the show. She had some good ones, like “Brendan Fraser looks like a young Rodney Dangerfield” and “Is Tilda Swinton a ghost?” but the one below literally made me laugh out loud.

**Milk Duds will forever make me** **smile.**
(Lynn’s texts are in the grey background.)

All of us who have had extensive dental work join Lynn in that prayer.

When Lynn had accomplished most of the things on her to do list – financial and legal matters that would make things easier on Kathy – she decided to have her nephrostomy reversed, knowing that would expedite her death. The tubes coming out of her back were terribly uncomfortable and her pain was getting harder to manage. She was ready. Unfortunately, our healthcare system was not and it took a lot of phone calls and navigation to get the greenlight to proceed. Finally, on Wednesday, March 15^th, Lynn had the procedure to remove the tubes. I texted her that morning to tell her I was thinking of her. What she texted back has become a mantra for me in the days since her death.

Lynn returned home that morning for the beginning of the end. She had originally planned to enter our local hospice as her death drew near – she didn’t want Kathy to have to live with the memory of her dying in their home. Kathy thought she would be okay either way, but “I think that’s what Lynn would have wanted” was a phrase she spoke softly time and again in those last days – when Lynn was no longer conscious. It was such a sweet affirmation of their commitment to each other.

Her pain was increasing each day as her body was shutting down and under the supervision of her hospice in-home team, she was taking more drugs more frequently. The upside was no pain, the downside was fewer periods of clarity. Joy had arranged for a few days off from her work – thinking she would be giving Kathy a break at hospice during Lynn’s last days. We went to her house on a Thursday evening and could see that her descent was beginning. She had a hard time keeping her eyes open and her speech was weak and slurred. Our conversation was spotty when Joy, her voice cracking, asked Lynn if she could see into the next world. Lynn’s eyes grew wide open as she replied, “Oh, I’ve been seeing into it for a while now.” Joy asked her what it looked like. We both leaned in close to Lynn’s face as she answered, “The path is lit up waves.”

**The moonglade as seen from Lynn’s condo balcony. “The path is lit up waves.”**

Joy and I needed something stronger than prosecco after that revelation. I loved Lynn’s imagery and it seemed almost poetic for her. Her favorite place on earth was her beach condo in Garden City, SC. Her condo is on the fifth floor of a high rise and features a huge balcony that practically hangs over the ocean. You feel like you are on the deck of a grand cruise ship when you are standing on it. Many times, when we were there with her, we would marvel at the moonglade over the ocean and in the weeks since her death, it has comforted me to think of her on that familiar path.

That was the last conversation we had with Lynn. The next morning, Kathy was having difficulty getting Lynn adjusted in her recliner – Lynn was in a stupor from her medication and unable to help her. Lori and Sue happened to drop by at just the right time and it was starkly apparent that this was not a drill – Kathy needed help. Sue was calling me on her phone when Joy arrived at Lynn’s house. The next four days were like that – we were all on the same page, seamlessly working together with one purpose – keep Lynn as comfortable as possible as she made her exit. We never discussed who would spend the night – we all did – or who would do what – we just did it.

This crew is true blue and we were so grateful for all the friends who dropped off food and hugs.

Our vigil became a sacred sleepover of sorts and took on an almost tribal ritual feel. A hospital bed was delivered and placed in the middle of the sunroom – her favorite room in the house. And Lynn remained in that bed with us surrounding her until she died. Her priest came and administered the Last Rites and we all laid hands on her. And then we waited. And waited. And waited some more. Death wants to make sure you’re paying attention.

**Time management is an important skill for caregivers.**

At night, we slept in increments of 55 minutes. Lynn could no longer swallow her pain meds, so we had to give them to her by dropper every hour. Kathy was the head nurse and Joy was her assistant. We became as proficient as a NASCAR pit crew. One of us would gently hold her head up and another would massage her throat to help the medicine go down. Kathy would set her phone alarm for an hour and the rest of us – sleeping on assorted couches, would pop up to help when it went off. Funny aside – Lynn was a world class napper and strongly believed that every room should have a couch – just in case she felt the need – the need for sleep. She was right – and we played musical couches each night.

The second night, I slept on the couch in the sunroom next to Lynn’s hospital bed. My head was just a few feet from hers and her deep labored breathing was the only sound in the entire house. It felt like being in the passenger seat when I was a kid – long before car seats – curious about where my dad might be taking me. Only this time Lynn was driving and I wondered what she might be thinking as I stared into the living room where Lori was sleeping. There is something deeply comforting about sleeping under the same roof with people you dearly love. I didn’t really sleep, but I floated in that space with no fear – just an overwhelming peace that wherever Lynn was going, she would be okay.

**My view from the passenger seat. Lynn kept steering us out of the dark.**

Early Sunday morning, Lynn began the death rattle – that eerie gurgling sound from the back of the throat that usually signals that death is very near. Or not. After a few hours during which we hung on her every breath, she returned to the deep breathing she had been doing the past few days. She wasn’t leaving just yet. The hospice nurse came that morning and encouraged us to talk to Lynn and tell her that it was okay to go. We all smiled knowingly and we told the nurse that Lynn had been telling us it was okay for her to go for weeks. We decided that Lynn was enjoying being the absolute center of our attention too much to leave just yet.

We were all a bit delirious from sleep deprivation, which can only explain why Joy and I sat down on the couch beside Lynn’s bed and decided to start singing hymns. You might be thinking that was a really lovely thing to do, but you’ve never heard my wife and me sing. It’s not pretty. We know how awful we are and we giggled and declared that if our dreadful crooning didn’t take Lynn out, nothing would. Mercifully, we ran out of hymns and everyone joined us in the sunroom and we began playing a two-hour mashup of Lynn’s Top 100 on our phones. Lynn loved music – all types – and we covered every genre – including songs from marching bands – she played the French horn in her high school band. We played everything from 25 or 6 to 4 to Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue and wait for it – Midnight at the Oasis. Lynn’s bucket list trip was Morocco – her planned trip in 2020 was scratched by COVID and she deeply regretted never getting there. We really belted out that one for her and at one point – just for a nanosecond, Lynn seemed to bob her head with the music – absolutely true story and I have fairly reliable witnesses.

DJ Joy in da House!

Send your camel to bed…

A hospice nurse – Nurse Cindy, our favorite – came on Monday morning and after taking Lynn’s vitals, told us that Lynn would probably go soon. Or not. Hospice nurses are awesome, but they’re not the betting type. Nurse Cindy told us what a good job we were doing caring for Lynn – and yes, I’m sure she tells everyone that, but it was a lovely lift to our weary souls that morning. Our other Lynn arrived with goodies and fresh energy and Lori and Sue went home to shower and change. When they returned, Joy and I left to do the same. And, of course, that’s when Lynn took her last breaths. Kathy was napping and Sue shouted at Lori to go wake her – STAT. A few minutes later, Lynn was gone. Death is like that – it keeps you waiting and then it makes an Irish exit.

**Sunrise from the sunroom on the day Lynn died.**

Lori had called me to tell us to hurry back, but we were too late. I was worried that Joy would be heartbroken that she was not with Lynn at the very end. Here’s the thing about my wife – she is the most grownup person I have ever known. I mean it. She is just so annoyingly mature. I told her I was so sorry we didn’t make it back in time and she said, through her tears, “It’s okay. I’m just so glad Lynn is finally out of pain.” See what I mean? Later, after she had spent some time alone with Lynn by her bed – holding her hand and stroking her hair softly – Joy told me that she thought Lynn had died while she was gone to make it easier on her. I love that thought and I want to be like Joy when I grow up.

We all left Kathy with Lynn in the sunroom while we did the things you have to do when someone dies. I called hospice to let them know and they told me that Nurse Cindy would be over shortly. Someone had the idea of cracking open a bottle of prosecco to toast Lynn off. And wouldn’t you know it, just as Sue was popping the cork and Joy was holding the flutes, in walks Nurse Cindy. She seemed a bit startled. I guess not everyone celebrates the end of a loved one’s life so festively. Well, Lynn Parsley wasn’t everyone, and she would have loved every minute of it. Joy even asked Nurse Cindy if she wanted a little sip. That’s my wife – ever gracious. Nurse Cindy politely declined and began all the paperwork she needed to do before the folks from the funeral home arrived. She was so tender with Lynn, even tearing up a few times. When it came time for her to leave, she said she hoped she had such a devoted group around her when it was her time. I think she really meant it. And then we all hugged her – genuine hugs of gratitude. I told her that I hoped I would never see her again – at least not on the job – and she laughed.

Then two very dapper men from the funeral home came to take Lynn away. They, too, were so very sensitive and kind. We followed them to the door and stood at the top of the steps as they prepared to place Lynn’s body in their Dodge van. What the hell? Lynn was a car fanatic – buying a new one every few years. She had a couple of Jags and sports cars and really nice rides over the years. A Dodge van would not have been her style at all, but I guess death has a sense of humor. And then one of the men slid the van door open and we saw that there was another body inside. Joy, who is usually the most reserved in our tribe blurted out cheerfully, “Oh, look! Lynn has a roommate.” I thought I might fall down the steps from laughing so hard and then Kathy sweetly said, “Lynn would love that.” That was our Lynnie – making new friends wherever she went.

We went back into the house, which felt deafeningly quiet and Sue decided to make dinner reservations for us that evening at one of the best restaurants in town. And so, a few hours later, we sat in a very private nook in a very fine restaurant and told story after story about Lynn and toasted her with almost every sip. Someone had tipped off our server to the circumstances of our celebration and he was wonderful. As we were leaving, he said, “I hope you all enjoyed your evening – and the one not here, too.” Even he knew that Lynn was still with us.

Lynn’s memorial service was held ten days later on the last day in March. There were over 300 people in attendance. I don’t even know 300 people. The service was magnificent – just as Lynn had planned it. The music was gorgeous – the prelude included a piano, viola, and trumpet – and a lyric soprano sang. I think I did okay with my eulogy. My sister, who lives in California, happened to be on the east coast for business and was able to attend and I decided to focus on her when I began to speak. I was about three words in when I saw her beautiful face crumble into a full-on ugly cry and that immediately relaxed me. She’s a tower of strength, that one. I kept it short and sweet and a little bit funny and told a few stories about Lynn that I hoped everyone could relate to.

I shared that Lynn and I had recently reminisced about one of our favorite movies – Starman. There’s a wonderful scene in that film where an alien, played by Jeff Bridges, is sharing his observations about humans with a scientist. The alien says, “You are a strange species. Not like any other. Shall I tell you what I find beautiful about you? You are at your very best when things are worst.” That was Lynn Parsley. And when things went from bad to very worst in the last months of her life, Lynn was the one who made us feel better. She never gave up hope and she never stopped teaching.

I ended my eulogy with this excerpt from Mary Oliver’s poem In Backwater Woods:

To live in this world,

you must be able to do three things:

to love what is mortal;

to hold it

against your own bones knowing

your own life depends on it;

and, when the time comes to

let it go,

to let it go.

Lynn knew this and she gently helped us to know it, too. I think of her every day, especially when I run across something clever on social media that makes me laugh and I want to share it with her. I miss laughing with her. And I miss talking about deep things. Not many people like to go there, but Lynn did and we went there often – especially near the end. I read a fascinating article shortly after Lynn’s death (she probably sent it to me) – an excerpt from a book by Mimi Zhu – Be Not Afraid of Love: Lessons on Fear, Intimacy and Connection. Zhu writes that “grief is an ancestor who teaches us to exercise constant and immense gratitude.” She goes on, “To this day, grief has shown me that love does not die at the face of death; it is transformed. When you grieve deeply, you are shown your abounding capacity to love. Love does not die. Love sprouts from the ground we have nourished with our tears.”

That last sentence reads like a prayer to me,

Lynn loved Star Wars and well done sarcasm. I sent this to her in my head.

I had the most amazing dream about Lynn the other night. I was sitting outside at a picnic table with Joy and her on a beautiful day. Lynn was still dead but looked great – not sick at all. She said she had come to tell us that heaven looks like you’re wearing 3-D glasses all the time. How awesome is that? Lynn loved all the Marvel movies, so the heavenly 3-D effect is so on brand for her. She was terribly excited about it all and I kept touching her arm to see what it felt like. Spoiler alert – it felt like an arm. It was such a happy dream that I could hardly wait for it to be morning so I could tell Joy about it.

And now the image I can’t get out of my head, not that I would ever want to, is of Lynn and Jimmy Carter in heaven with their 3-D glasses on – blissfully chewing on Milk Duds – and watching the latest Guardians of the Galaxy movie together. Somehow, Lynn knew it all along – every little thing is going to be all right.

**Lynn and Kathy will always have Paris – September 2022.**

**The back of the bulletin for Lynn’s memorial service. Her idea, of course.**
**“No Hard Feelings” by the Avett Brothers – what a way to go.**

**Rest well, dear friend.** **We’ll see you on the other side.**

Postscript: In one of our last conversations together, I told Lynn that I would most certainly write about her death. She smiled and paused for a second before saying, “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”

And as of this posting, President Carter is still with us. No hurry, sir, but Lynn has saved you a great seat.

Eulogy for Lynn Parsley

Note: My dear friend Lynn Parsley died on March 20^th, two days before her 68^th birthday. Cancer sucks. Lynn gave me many gifts, particularly the last few months of her life, and I will most certainly write about them when the time is right. She also gave me the great honor of giving her eulogy at her memorial service last week. I think these things are meant to be spoken, not read, but I’m sharing it with you anyway. I think Lynn would like that.

Lynn Parsley, ten days before her death. Living, not dying.

I married into friendship with Lynn Parsley. Lynn and my wife Joy were best friends for almost 25 years. So, when I got Joy, I also got Lynn. Lucky me! And Joy? Well, she got my grumpy cat. Life is not fair, friends.

I loved Lynn Parsley – and so did all of you. Lynn made meaningful connections her entire life and perhaps more remarkable than that, she kept most of them. The parade of visitors through her sunroom the last month of her life was like an episode of This is Your Life on steroids– friends from 3rd grade, sorority sisters, most of Ardmore, dogs, on and on for days. Lynn was never careless with her relationships. She nurtured them and treasured them, but you know that. You may not know the person sitting to your left or right, but it would not take long to make a connection while playing Six Degrees of Lynn Parsley. It might be Book Group, Movie Group, GLADS, Sunday school, Cabana Night, Sherosa, Adam Foundation, therapy, or you just happened to stand in line with her one morning at the DMV and you had an amazing conversation about the multiverse and became friends. Lynn thrived on connection and being with her people, and if you were her friend, you were her people for life.

Lynn Parsley was an ever-amusing array of opposites. She was one of the smartest people I’ve ever known – she could quote Richard Rohr and Honey Boo Boo in the same sentence. Her cake was never baked. She was endlessly curious. She traveled all over the world, but perhaps her favorite journey was the drive to Garden City and her beach condo – with the mandatory stop at the Strawberry Patch – always two scoops. Lynn loved ice cream more than anyone I know over the age of 12.

She was famously frugal – have coupon, will shop – and in her honor, our local Kohl’s store is closed today.

And yet, she was abundantly generous to charities and anyone in need – usually in quite ways – never giving for recognition. And Lynn was one of those people who never had to be asked to give. She just did – over and over again.

She had a wicked sense of humor and it never deserted her. She could tell one of her goofy Delbert and Doreen jokes and then land the wittiest retort.

A few weeks ago, I texted her a picture of a bumper sticker I saw in the Harris Teeter parking lot. It proclaimed, Enthusiastically Episcopalian.

Lynn immediately texted back, “Well, that’s an oxymoron.”

One day she would be telling me about a fascinating Japanese documentary on Albert Einstein and a few days later she’d be raving about much she loved the latest Minions movie.

Lynn loved movies and she texted me during the Oscars and said she hoped there would be movies in heaven and Milk Duds that wouldn’t pull out her fillings. May it be so.

We reminisced about one of our favorite movies, Starman, a few weeks before she died. There’s a wonderful scene in that film where an alien, played by Jeff Bridges, is sharing his observations about humans with a scientist.

The alien says, “You are a strange species. not like any other. Shall I tell you what I find beautiful about you? You are at your very best when things are worst.’’

That was Lynn Parsley.

And things certainly went from bad to worse in the past few months and Lynn was always the one that made us feel better. She never gave up hope – her faith sustained everyone who loved her. And, of course, no one loved her as much as Kathy and I cannot speak of Lynn today without speaking about Kathy. And Lord knows, she hates that. I’m sorry, Kathy.

Kathy Ausen was the love of Lynn’s life. Lynn always felt like she won the lottery with Kathy – her beautiful Norwegian, and if you’ve ever had Kathy’s chocolate chip cookies, you know that she did. Their relationship was filled with love and humor and all the things that good marriages are made of, but it was also brimming with integrity and respect. Their relationship was shiny in all the best ways – like a beautiful crystal prism reflecting the best of both of them.

Bearing witness to Kathy’s strength and grace these past several years has made me appreciate the vow “in sickness and in health” in a truly sacred way.

Thank you, Kathy, for always holding us up with your elegant mettle.

When Lynn’s prognosis suddenly changed from months to weeks, she leaned into her death – certainly not happy about it, but peacefully accepting. Joy and I went to the house that night not knowing what to expect. There was Lynn in her recliner with a beatific smile on her face. She said, “I’ve decided that I want to die on the same day as Jimmy Carter so that we can hold hands and jump together.” She’s waiting for you, President Carter.

Lynn’s serene acceptance of her death gave us the glorious gift of celebrating her life while she was still here with us, and boy, did we! We had a drive-by early birthday parade and she was able to sit outside on a beautiful sunny Saturday and say goodbye to so many old friends. Most of them cried, but Lynn didn’t. She smiled that winsome smile and held their hands and said things like, “I’ll see you on the other side.”

Kathy told us later that evening that Lynn was reflecting on the day and said, “I’m already in heaven.”

Lynn loved the poet Mary Oliver and a passage from her poem, In Backwater Woods, perfectly captures Lynn’s presence in her final weeks.

To live in this world, you must be able to do three things, to love what is mortal, to hold it against your bones knowing your own life depends on it, and when the time comes to let it go, to let it go.

Our beloved Lynn has let go, but the good news is that we never have to let go of her.

Lynn Parsley Forever!

Bookends

Two writers. One blog.