A Spirited Lady
She and my father-in-law are the ones who have made my husband Ken and I members of the "sandwich generation." My own parents also live here but are still vibrant and independent, needing no attention from us in terms of helping them to fulfill their needs or to orchestrate their lives. Charlotte and Paul, being older, were and are different.
As my mother-in-law's health declined, my father-in-law became her caregiver. As we heard the stress build in his voice and watched her needs engulf his days, we finally intervened, along with Ken's brother Brian and my sister-in-law Linda to get them into a facility that suited their changing lives.
From the beginning, Charlotte fought it. She constantly told us she hated "this damn place," the predicament in which she found herself and her inability "just to be me." She dreamed of dancing again with Paul, her favorite jitterbug partner. She continued to adhere to as many of the customs and traditions of her Jewish faith as she could in her new surroundings. And she lived for visits from her beloved boys, grandchildren, husband and brother.
Over the last two years, her memories and her light began to fade. In spite of the fact we had moved to the community months ago, every time I would come for my weekly visit she wanted to know when we were going to relocate here. When I said we already lived here, it always struck her as if she was hearing it for the first time. Then she would ask where we were staying. I would patiently remind her that we had bought her house and were staying there. "Is that OK?" I would inquire. "Oh sure" was her steady response.
Similar dialogues would occur with regularity. When she would get stuck on something, it could occupy an entire Thursday conversation. One week I had suggested we take her from her room in the skilled nursing facility to my father-in-law's independent living apartment for a movie outing. I wanted her to see "The Sound of Music," one of her favorite's, and to indulge her love of sweets. Stirling, Paul and Charlotte's now regular caregiver, DeLois, were also in attendance. Once everyone was settled and because I was also comfortable -- and knew the plot line -- I didn't feel bad about taking a cat nap in the middle of the feature. Not only did Charlotte pick up on my detour but it became fodder for my next several visits. "You fell asleep during the movie," she would announce with a mixture of accusation and glee. It was a "transgression" that she liked to hold over me and repeat again and again. And again. For Charlotte, it was one of the few amusements that remained in her life.
Charlotte had always been frightened of death. In fact, on more than one occasion she had seemed to will herself to make it through a health scare or situation that would have fell a less determined individual. We referred to her as a "cat," with multiple lives. She survived a negative drug interaction, that dropped her weight to 70 pounds, creating a pharmaceutical cocktail we were told would have killed a person with three times her heft and stamina. A broken hip. Two bouts of pneumonia. Loss of oxygen to the brain during surgery. Charlotte survived them all.
In the end, she left us exactly as she would have wanted. Saturday, September 22 was a beautiful autumn day. It was also the holiest of the Jewish holidays, Yom Kippur. After visiting our synagogue, Ken, our son Alex and I went to see Charlotte. With prayer book in tow, my husband and son led a simple -- but meaningful and personalized -- service for Charlotte. In the middle of it all, Stirling called from Senegal and got to speak with her grandmother. When we left, she was peaceful and content.
The next morning the phone call arrived. Charlotte, having made it through another round of Jewish holidays and having spent precious time with family she loved, had passed away in her sleep, among her dreams. She was a devoted daughter and decades later still spoke with reverent adoration of her own parents. Now, we knew, she was finally with them. And if she couldn't be here, with all of us, this was exactly where she wanted to be.
Good night, sweet Charlotte.
