Farewells

To lose the earth you know, for greater knowing; to lose the life you have, for greater life; to leave the friends you loved, for greater loving; to find a land more kind than home, more large than earth –

-Whereon the pillars of this earth are founded, toward which the conscience of the world is tending - a wind is rising, and the river flows.

Thomas Wolfe, You Can’t Go Home Again

     It is difficult to be more eloquent about death than Thomas Wolfe’s voice. Ever since I found this quote it has spoken to me. I have gone back to it time and again. It has spoken to me particularly over the past three weeks. During that time, I have had to say goodbye to Cathy McGrady, John Elkins, and Eugenia Robinson in turn. These deaths have caused me to stumble while at the same time the Earth has continued to turn and as always has called me to turn with it allowing me no time to fall.

     We met Cathy when our children were young. Our youngest Louise went to school with Cathy’s daughter Carolyn. Our family bonded with their family and thus Louise’s school years are intertwined forever with memories of Tim and Cathy McGrady and their children Carolyn and Chris. You could not meet Cathy and then not remember Cathy. She had a full personality. She was always very real, very direct, and very honest. She had a wonderful sense of humor as her easy laugh and infectious smile could attest to. She both had a temper and was openly loving. I regret in recent years we had lost touch. We missed the McGrady’s, but lives often take different paths. Still we would run into Carolyn at odd times at Home Depot and catch up a little. Carolyn is quite like her mom and so it was doubly good to run into her. I had recently exchanged messages with Cathy on Instagram (the internet being the great shrinker of time and distance) because she wanted to see our new house. I had told her to drop by anytime, and we would love to see her. Anytime will now never come.

     I learned of John Elkins before I ever met him. As a research assistant at Clemson University to Dr. Harry Law, I learned that John Elkins was a pre-eminent railroad researcher. From there, I ended upworking with John Elkins at the Transportation Test Center in Pueblo, Colorado, following my graduation. John was the first and best of my mentors and he became a good friend. I remember any number of excellent technical discussions and cannot overstate how much I learned from working with him. It takes no effort to conjure any number of images of John and I talking over some engineering problem. John would be leaning back in his chair, eyes half lidded in concentration as his right hand pointed and rotated as he was thinking in 3 dimensions as defined by the right-hand-rule. It’s an engineer thing. We also enjoyed personal moments as when several engineers and I went over to John’s house armed with a Do-Drop-Inn pizza and a bottle of Johnny Walker for an afternoon of Scotch and pizza. I admit to having gone a bit heavy on the Scotch and ended up climbing over John’s backyard fence where his yard met the yard of Roy and Sue Allen. Like John, they were British and Roy was also the big boss where we all worked. I had hopped the fence and fended off a particularly aggressive and spiny Russian Olive guard tree to ask Roy to come join us. Roy couldn’t join us as he and his wife Sue were on their way to the gym, but apparently I was drunk enough that they insisted on driving me back to John’s (all of one house away) and depositing me on the front porch. There were other fun times such as a visit to Club La Supre Sex in Montreal – a strip club John wanted to go to, and the first one I had ever been to, and perhaps a story for another time. Suffice it to say, the evening was defined when the bouncer/doorman followed us to our seats and suggested rather strongly that it was “customary” to tip the doorman $20. This elicited a classic John Elkins “oh my.” As with Cathy, I lost track of John as the years and work moved in separate directions. I had hoped to reconnect with him, but that didn’t happen, and sadly never will.

     Eugenia Robinson was my wife’s (and her siblings’) only cousin. I got to know Genie at first through her many phone calls to Jean-Marie. Both are night owls, so late at night when the phone rang, we knew it would be Genie. From time to time, I would talk to her on the phone as well and got to love her. Genie was a bright and intelligent woman of strong opinions and crystal-clear memory. She told stories of her life, her parents’ lives, and of what growing up with Jean-Marie was like. She had no problem holding your attention. Often you didn’t even need to speak as Genie could get on a streak and go and go. Listening was just fine to Genie, she was good with an audience. In recent years, the recession of the early 2000’s took its toll on Genie and left her in bad straights. She eventually had to leave her home and moved in with Jean-Marie’s brother Chris and his wife Mary Jane. She was able to stay there until Chris and Mary Jane sold their house to downsize. Genie then moved in with a friend Amy and her family. Recently Genie was diagnosed with a malignant mass on one of her ovaries. Before it could be removed, it ruptured. This combined with Genie’s unwillingness to take chemotherapy lead to the cancer spreading everywhere. She called us two weeks ago to let us know the cancer was back and that she was in the hospital and headed to hospice. She had no idea how long she had left. We were able to visit her in the hospital where we found her thin, but as bright and intelligent as always. Not a week later, reports from Chris and Mary Jane said Genie had deteriorated very quickly. Shortly after that we got a phone call that said Genie might not survive the night. Jean-Marie and I packed and hopped in the car and drove through the night non-stop to Memphis, a seventeen-hour drive. We went straight to the nursing home where Genie was sent for hospice care. We found Genie barely alive. The horror of cancer was writ over her. Her arms and legs were drawn in, her mouth was agape and making labored swallows of air while her eyes were opened but glazed. It was heart breaking, it was Genie yet it was not Genie. We held her hands and prayed the rosary. We sat with her and talked with her. We told her we loved her. We were there through the afternoon and were joined by Chris and Mary Jane. Around 4PM we all left with so that Jean-Marie and I could get cleaned up and get something to eat. While we were gone, Genie died. I loved what I learned about Genie at her passing. I had assumed that Genie lived a sheltered and lonely life. But she had friends that were family to her. Amy, who was just half her age, had known her for 20 years. At sixteen years of age, Amy was Genie’s grocery delivery girl. Their relationship started there and just kept going (Genie was never shy). She was friends with Amy’s husband and mother and daughter and grandchildren. All of whom we met at the funeral and found them quite easy to like and share our grief with. Amongst all these passings, Genie was the only one we were able to say goodbye to. Goodbyes make a great deal of difference.

    As we head home, we are emotionally drained. I look back on Cathy, John, and Genie and feel sad. Grief is the curse of the living. But it is nice to think, that these friends have found a land more kind than home and more large than Earth.