When we took Mary to the hospital in the midst of the Sunday night blizzard here, I thought/hoped they would be able to give her some IV and nutrition and she'd be able to come home in a couple days. But on Tuesday morning when I went in after dropping Marc off for class, the nurse said there had been a change overnight and she was no longer responding to requests or commands. I went in and bent over her ear and said “I love you.” She didn't open her eyes, but her lips moved, and she clearly whispered back, “I love you too.” The doctor told me that morning that he thought it would be about 24 hours, and Marc and I gave her permission to go later that day. Still, she fought on: 24, 48, 72 hours passed before her poor body finally wore out.
The past few days have been a whirlwind. Fortunately, Mary had (of course) planned everything out, and gone over it with Fr. Michael, her priest and boss. So we rounded up the cats and sent Mary off in high style. If only she could have been here in person to see all the wonderful friends who came out for her going away party. She would have loved it.
The music, by our music director, Peter Bergin (keyboards and a beautiful tenor voice), our friends Christina Seymour (soprano) and Dave Johnson (bass), and guitarist John Wunsch, was beautiful. One of my friends wrote, "The love in that room was so big and so real, and that church is so musical, I think it should you should pitch it as a new TV show, a kind of Catholic Glee. Thank you for sharing your lives so openly and all of that amazing grace. John Wunsch's rendition of "Amazing Grace" was a masterpiece of emotion -- a perfect, meditative climax. A few times today, I shared with friends who know you but didn't attend the funeral, about how amazing the service was and what a great tribute it was. It was an extreme example of one of those times you want to applaud and express your appreciation, but can't. (Although I must admit it's refreshing when a great piece of music ends without a crowd of drunks applauding and some redneck whistling or yahooing.)" Thank you Jim Barnes.
Personally, I veer between great sadness, happiness, joy, laughter and tears. It's a whirlwind of emotions. Those of you who knew Mary, even if you only met her once, knew the joy she brought to every encounter. To know that light has been extinguished forever, that I will no longer be able to look in her sparkling eyes and talk to her about matters mundane and profound, to ask her who the heck the actor is on TV because, you know he was in that one show, to point to the dog’s latest shenanigans and laugh, to sit with her and listen to Marc tell us a tale, to tell her I love her, is emotionally devastating. To know that I will never again hear that lovely, musical voice – truly the best female voice this harsh critic has ever heard – Is just so sad.
Yet I know that Mary is finally free from her suffering. She never complained, though she would matter of factly tell me from time to time, “It's really hurting today.” Marc and I saw every day what she went through. The way her back became increasingly distended, her posture more and more stooped from the fractured vertebrae. Her increasing wobbliness, resulting in going back to the walker from the cane a week before she went into the hospital. The bedsores. The raft of pills she had to take, resulting in two separate pill boxes, one for morning, one for evening. Still, she persevered.
And so do we. I am not the first person this has happened to, nor the last. People pick up their lives every day. The world doesn't stop spinning just because someone you love is suddenly gone. We all know that from losing friends, neighbors, parents, siblings, children. Just two weeks ago my hometown of Newaygo lost one of the pillars of the community, my good friend Jeff Cronk, to a heart attack. Two weeks prior to that, his brother-in-law Mark Simon, the superintendent at Mesick, also passed away due to a totally unexpected heart attack. So if you're going to feel sorry for someone, feel sorry for Jeff's lovely wife Wendy, who lost her brother and husband in the space of two weeks and now has to make Christmas for her three sons.
But like Wendy, I still have so much to live for. If Mary was amazing, and she was, our son Marc is the most remarkable person I've ever met. His ability to miss his mom yet accept that she's gone, to look past the hurt and appreciate both the wonderful times we had and the knowledge that Mary is no longer suffering, is the best medicine I could get. Our wonderful friends here continue to support us and lift us up with their love. Cards, calls, emails, all overflowing with love (keep 'em coming!).
My best friends from home, Joe and Chris Sorden and Jon Bumstead, were at the funeral, and afterwards were looking for a place to sit in the parish hall for the luncheon. I grabbed them and said come sit with us. You are family. Of course, I could have said that about anyone there, and probably anyone bothering to read this blog. You are all our family. Though I'm an only child, in addition to Joe and Jon, I have a raft of brothers from Circus Circus, my dorm floor at MSU, rallying to me. My editor at Progression wrote and called, my editor at the Business News wrote me several times, my editor at the Insider came to visitation, my editor at Northern Express was at the funeral, and the folks at Jazziz sent a beautiful bouquet. Not to forget my former editor there, Koretzky, and my triathlon-loving friend, Blaze. My former employers at Coldwell Banker sent a plant, and then visited en masse. Former boss Leslie Bloomquist Knopp, whose father, my Spartan band director Ken Bloomquist is now battling this demon disease. All the St. Philip Neri and Empire/Glen Arbor friends -– without you we would be, if not lost, at least so much poorer in spirit. Diane from eyeland, Genevieve and Janine from hairland, my NMC Jazz director Mike Hunter and his wife, Margie, who was Marc's elementary music teacher, along with a number of his other teachers. The cards that keep coming in. Realtor friends, high school and college classmates, the Record-Eagle alumni club, including Nick, Tom, Tuner – and don't forget Jacki! – Facebook friends. It is is all good.
Those of you who were not able to be at the funeral will have a chance to make it up at the burial in the spring in Empire. I will keep you updated. It will be one more opportunity to celebrate Mary's life.
I've occasionally appended to my notes those from my friend and former section leader in the SMB, Bob Addleman, who has kept us in his prayers and on his prayer chains in Pittsburgh while dealing with his own health challenges and moving in to a new home to take better care of his mom (increasing dementia) and dad (who had a stroke). In the midst of his travails he continues to reach out to me, and I'll end with the closing from his latest email, sent to me the day of Mary's funeral.
“I know it probably sounds hollow on a day like today, but today is another opportunity to have a great day. I hope and pray it's that way for both of us.”
Me too. For all of us.
Love to all,
Ross and Marc
Russ Freeman and the Rippingtons have delivered another winner, with great melodies, engaging riffs, and just a couple pratfalls. The second cut on the new Cote D'Azur, "Le Calypso," is one of the unfortunate missteps, with a melody that's not much there. But for most of the rest, from the zesty title track which opens the disc with a booming bassline, to the closing "Mesmerized," the Ripps show their mettle. Freeman shines as always - he never gets enough credit for his playing, and the band is tight and grooving throughout. Critics may call the music formulaic, and while it fits neatly into the smooth jazz playlists, it still offers more than ear candy. These guys can play, and even if they rarely surprise anymore, you can always count on a Rippingtons album to deliver the goods.
