R.I.P. Pat
by Scott Hardie on April 25, 2014
Kelly's mother passed away last week. The event had been anticipated for decades: Pat was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes as a child, suffered kidney failure in 1995 and survived on her brother's donated kidney, and had five strokes and five heart attacks and countless operations, including emergency brain surgery in 2007 that changed her personality. She obviously possessed quite an inner resiliency even if she seemed petite and frail on the outside, but it was inevitable that she would someday lose the fight with her own body. With her replacement kidney and heart and lungs failing last week, the family decided to move her into a comforting hospice to spare her the pain of a few more days of fighting in vain. She gently passed the next evening, with her husband Russ and son Andy on one side, and Kelly and me on the other.
I had never been present for someone's death before. It was a strange sort of honor to be allowed to witness a husband whisper in the ear of his wife of 41 years as she faded away. Holding Pat's ravaged hand for hours and spoon-feeding her what would become her last meal were difficult for me; I cannot imagine what it must be like to go through for months what I did in two days. Russ doesn't like to be praised for taking care of Pat during her slow decline for so many long years, but the task was enormous and so too should be the family's gratitude to him.
As Kelly and I spent more time with the extended family over the subsequent days, waiting for the funeral, the conversation about Pat turned more and more to the way she had been in her youth: Fun-loving, risk-taking, vivacious. I regret not getting a chance to know her as she was; I met her in 1995 in the midst of her initial kidney failure and have only known her since then as cautious, meek, and dependent. The 2007 brain injury turned her into a different person, sometimes unlucid (there are few moments as heartbreaking as your own mother asking, "who are you?") and often cruel to Russ, punishing him for the constant pain and misery of her disease, for reasons that only she understood in her stroke-addled mind. I am glad that her years of suffering are over, and his too.
Pat, thank you for making me feel like a member of the family from the start, and for making my wife into the woman she is today. I love you, and I already miss you.
Eight Replies to R.I.P. Pat
Matthew Preston | April 25, 2014
Scott, please accept and share my condolences with Kelly and her family. I am happy to have had the chance to meet Pat and spend some time with her (albeit brief) at your pre-ception in St. Charles. My thoughts are with you all.
Denise Sawicki | April 25, 2014
What a sad situation. Sorry to hear this.
Scott Hardie | April 26, 2014
Thank you. I feel like I should share some photos, so here is Pat in the 1970s as a school counselor, in the 1980s with young Kelly and Andy, in the 1990s when her children had outgrown her, and a few years ago at a party with Andy. I'm grateful to him for the pictures.
Chris Lemler | April 26, 2014
Sorry for your guys lost
Erik Bates | April 28, 2014
[hidden by author request]
Steve West | April 29, 2014
I can very much relate to what you're experiencing now as I recently lost my father nearly one month ago. His death was sudden but not unanticipated. I prefer to think of the few golden memories of our time together and not the ravages of the unloving kind that were too, too frequent. I spoke at his funeral and shared the one memory of my childhood that captured what I was desperate to have more of, and then I cried. I don't wish to make your loss appear to be an opportunity to speak of me but it's just timely that I just went through the pain of loss that you must be experiencing now. Each day sees the pain diminish and it's becoming easier to see the father I know he wanted to be. My most heartfelt sympathy I offer and pray that the happiest moments with your Mom are the ones you relive.
Scott Hardie | April 30, 2014
Thank you all. Steve, I offer my condolences for your own loss. You spoke well of your father here in the past, but I know how complicated parental relationships can be under the polite surface, and I understand some of the turbulent emotions that you've been going through. My heart goes out to you. I'm glad that you're making peace with it now. (In retrospect, I'm really glad that I dropped the morose "Gooed Grief" theme - five goos inspired by the five stages of grief - in favor of the weirder and more upbeat "I Want to Believe.")
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Scott Hardie | April 25, 2014
PS. Lori, thank you for coming out to the visitation. It was good to see you, even under those circumstances.