Two Friends Teach Me an Important Lesson in Living……….and Dying.

Not a diabetes article this month, but two important and loving  lessons nonetheless.

I lost two friends this week. They both taught me a very clear and wonderful lesson in life…and death.  They would both pass on the same day this week.

The first was Sister Annamarie, my second-grade teacher. We have a group on Facebook and when someone once asked, “…who was your favorite teacher?” I did not hesitate with my answer and added, “I wish I could thank her for all she meant to me.”

The answer came quickly from the coolest priest from our parish, Father Bill Brisotti (I mean, he played the banjo for heaven’s sake). “She has been at Loyola in Chicago for years. I can get you her information.”

And he did.

As fate would have it, I was heading to Chicago on business two weeks later and reached out. She agreed to meet, and we did—me showing up with flowers. (I mean, what DO you bring a nun, right? …What woman doesn’t love flowers? Good choice. I got her favorite…although perhaps she was just being nice.)

What followed was an incredible three hours of conversation.

As we started, I said, “I want to let you off the hook as far as remembering someone (me) from so long ago.”
She answered, “What? You? Youngest of six kids. Three boys, three girls.”
Be still my heart.
When I was getting ready to leave, I said, “Thank you.”
She answered, “Heavens, what for?”
We hugged and I left.

For a few years, every time I went to Chicago, we met. Flowers in hand, we would grab a meal and just chat.
What a joy.

I sent her flowers from time to time and let her know I was thinking about her. She once shared that the staff feared she had a secret boyfriend.
“I’m not disputing it.”
I could feel the warmth in her smile as she wrote that.
What a joy she was.
We stayed in touch until I was informed that she was in a home and not really fully aware of her surroundings.  Not surprising the phone call informing me that she was gone.  Thank you, again, Sister.

The second loss, on the same day, was my college friend, Ellen.
I was certainly not in Ellen’s closest circle, but she had a contagious smile and was truly a gentle and loving soul.  And we were always friendly all through college. Whenever we saw each other, she had this habit of saying my full name.  “Hi Tom Karlya…”  I will always remember that.

She, along with six other classmates, became affectionately known as the Sophomore Seven and then the Senior Seven. Some day someone will make a movie about this incredible group of powerful and brilliant women. They stayed friends all these years.  I also know she would really give me sass seeing her piccture next to a nun’s as above.  She would love the humor, that I know, but still it’s as important as poignant to this story.

But it was in the way Ellen died that severely pierced my heart—or perhaps I should say, how she lived at the end.

Facing brutal cancer, she would let no one feel sorry for her. She had a loving family along with those incredible grandchildren we all enjoy so much. Ellen did not share sorrow about her leaving against her will; she shared all of the joy she still had while living. The experiences and travels she continued to undertake. The love she always felt.  It was all around her!

When your love goes outward as much as Ellen’s did, you have little time for feeling sorry for yourself, and this woman would have none of that.

She shared how silly she thought it was to have a celebration of life after a person was gone. On her Facebook page, she wrote:
“Well, at every funeral or memorial service I’ve ever attended, someone invariably says, ‘Oh, Grandpa would have loved this,’ or ‘Oh, Aunt Gail would have loved to have been here.’ I’ve decided I will be there and love it, and so, hopefully, will you! I want to see as many of you as I can, to share stories, relive memories…”
And she did just that.
I’m told what a party it was.

Nothing more I could write about this incredible woman. Her Facebook post and how she lived until the very end, says it all.

At her celebration of life, my wife and I did a little something we thought she would like. Imagine what was going through my mind when, despite everything she was facing, despite everything going on, my phone rang.  Upon answering, I heard:
“Hi Tom Karlya, it’s Ellen.”
She thanked me for the gift and we talked a little bit. I could hear the weakness in her voice, but also the smile and gratitude.

“Thank you, Tom Karlya. I love you.”

I hung up the phone.
There were a few moments of silence.
I burst into tears.

I love you too, Ellen.