
I found out about a month ago that a woman, J, who, throughout most of high school and college, was my best friend, was on Hospice care in a nursing home outside of Philadelphia. She was in the final stages of emphysema. Doctors couldn’t even say if she would make it to her birthday at the end of May.
Accompanied by two other high school friends, I went to the nursing home to visit J. The other two had sent me a photo of their last visit with J, and so I was prepared to see what she looked like now. What I wasn’t prepared for was how the afternoon would go.
I knew there would be tears. There were tears. I knew there would be an expression of fear (“It’s not death, it’s dying”). There was that. I knew there would be a trip down Memory Lane and an acknowledgement of what they had all meant to each other way back when. There was that, as well. What I wasn’t prepared for was the great rolling pee-in-your pants laughter, about what was then and what is now. From things that happened 30 and 40 and 50 years ago, to the man in the nursing home, another resident, who kept hitting on her. After reporting him numerous times, J finally took matters into her own hands. She scared the hell out of him, to the point where he no longer signed up for events if he thought she would be there. “I’m a fucking powerful woman,” she said, “and I don’t take that shit.” She was laughing as she said it, this now tiny woman in a wheelchair, with oxygen tubes snaking into her nose from the big tank, hooked onto the back of the chair. We agreed about her being fucking powerful and so we laughed right along with her, sorry for the poor slob who dared to put his hand on her knee and invite her to his room.
Because, humor, after all, can be rooted in events that are essentially horrible. In cartoons, characters are always getting blown up or running off cliffs. In films, the actors fall victim to events that would never be laughed at in real life, like falling off ladders or down flights of steps. It’s the slipping-on-a-banana-peel event. And, when you think of it, death is basically one big, terminal slip on a giant banana peel, isn’t it?
So we laughed. At our hairstyles in J’s wedding album and at the high school-era photos she passed around. At the sight of old boyfriends and old husbands and old bedmates. At the fact that we all remembered things differently. At nothing in particular. We laughed until we were clutching ourselves. And then it got worse. We started laughing at how we were laughing. And there was no coming back from that.
And, between the paralyzing fears and the regrets and the gratitude, J was the same wicked irreverent person she was back then. Emphysema, the uninvited and overly demanding guest who will continue to grow more demanding until her end, is, gratefully, allowing J’s personality to remain intact. There are no heavy meds to dull her wit, no debilitating pain to distract her. There is only an ever-present oxygen tank, a wheelchair, and an occassional struggling cough that attempts to bring breath back, while breath, itself, remains enticingly just out of reach.
J had married very briefly many years ago, but she had no children. All of her family was long gone. What she had were her friends, or, in our cases, the memories of friendships from decades ago, from a time in life when we were invincible and believed that everything in our lives was headed toward some bright and unrealistic future. That time became more and more important to her as her debilitation increased. If old friendships could create no actual lifeline for her out of the disease, they could at least provide an emotional one.
During the afternoon, J extracted promises from us. We promised to see her again, before she died. We promised to go to her funeral. We promised to attend the Shiva. We promised to think of her once a week after her death. J asked us no more and no less than we would deliver.
And, after the promises, we were free to go back to the laughter. We concentrated on the laughter and on the private thoughts about how this is how a life ends. We allowed J to be J and she allowed us to be us. I finally said to J what had been on my mind throughout the afternoon. “You are hilarious. You should take the Dying Show on the road, just like that comic who did that with cancer.” J answered, “So I could be a stand up comic?” “No,” I said, “you’d have to be a sit down comic.” And then we all started laughing again.
Taswegian1957
March 19, 2018
I hope I can face dying with a laugh like that when the time comes.
Life in the Boomer Lane
March 20, 2018
No better way to celebrate your life, right?
Maggie
March 19, 2018
Thank you Renee…love you
Life in the Boomer Lane
March 20, 2018
And thank you. For reading and for caring.
aginggracefullymyass
March 19, 2018
What a beautiful, irreverent and real essay on a subject most folks go out of their way to avoid. I too have a close friend from HS, A, with COPD. She has been hospitalized twice in the past 4 months. Her 90+ year old mother currently lives with her. A was a fierce woman once until alcohol, a devastating layoff, a more devastating divorce and the wicked COPD laid her low. You give me hope that that fierce woman is still inside her weakened body somewhere. J will be in my prayers for a great final episode to The Dying Show. Thanks for sharing J with us Rene…
Life in the Boomer Lane
March 20, 2018
Thanks for these comments. Yes, we can rob people of their dignity when we avoid talking about the end of their lives. And we help ourselves, as well, when we bring that final part of life out into the light.
Lorie Smith Schaefer
March 19, 2018
Thanks for this. What a way to go. To die laughing.
Life in the Boomer Lane
March 20, 2018
That’s my own personal goal, for sure.
Phyllis Tallos-Goldring
March 19, 2018
What a tribute to J! Thank you Renee. Oh and by the way, I have your glasses.
Life in the Boomer Lane
March 20, 2018
Thanks Philly. Another memorable visit with you. I love you.
ksbeth
March 19, 2018
what a beautiful and loving gesture – what a gift to your dear friend. and to all of you.
Life in the Boomer Lane
March 20, 2018
Thanks. It was certainly a gift to all of us, and will continue to be.
speedingthroughparadise
March 19, 2018
That is Beautiful Renee
Sent from my iPhone
>
Life in the Boomer Lane
March 20, 2018
Thanks!
Kate Crimmins
March 19, 2018
This is how I want to die! Laughing on the way out with some of my best friends.
Life in the Boomer Lane
March 20, 2018
Can you imagine? I also want my kids to be there, so I can embarrass them one last time.
Kate Crimmins
March 20, 2018
You are the best mom ever!
Andrew Reynolds
March 19, 2018
You’ve given her a great gift in her last days – friendship, laughter, and your presence.
Life in the Boomer Lane
March 20, 2018
Thanks, Andrew. I know we have been given a gift, as well. It’s affected all of us very deeply.
Widdershins
March 19, 2018
What a wonderful dying story. 😀 … would you do follow up posts, if J agrees, about the rest of her, and your, journey? … these are tales that need to be told.
Life in the Boomer Lane
March 20, 2018
What an amazing thought. I’m going to ask J about that, after she reads this post.
Alyssa Cannon
March 19, 2018
This is as lovely as your piece on Aunt Gertrude. We were just reading that over the weekend as I find it cathartic and grounding for so many reasons. I may have a new hare brain idea for you.
A beautiful piece you wrote!
Life in the Boomer Lane
March 20, 2018
Thank you for these comments. It’s a way for me to not only honor people, but to understand them.
Brenda Tishk
March 19, 2018
Renee, nice reminiscing. I’ve known J since Jr high, lost contact for many years, then reconnected in our 40’s as we were both single and staying in touch since.. She is the most clever, sharp tongued, funny woman I have known. She still beats me at Words with Friends and our daily conversations are heartwarming. I was able to visit her in Feb. and would see her more if I didn’t live on the other side of the country. This has been the saddest time I have experienced. Never easy losing a close friend. It will be hard not talking with her. I know she is grateful to all who have contacted her. J was a dedicated teacher and loving daughter to her mother. She has lived life her way! 💔
Life in the Boomer Lane
March 20, 2018
I knew that you two had lost touch and had then reconnected but I didn’t know the details. What a gift for both of you. xxoo
Natalie
March 19, 2018
Oh I’m so happy to call you my friend … your insight speaks volumes!💜
Life in the Boomer Lane
March 20, 2018
Thanks, Natalie! xxoo
sasha from camac street
March 20, 2018
Brings tears to my eyes all over again. And belly laughs, too. BTW, she already ate the sandwiches. Next time, we take Sequence to play with her.
Life in the Boomer Lane
March 20, 2018
Ah, Sasha, thanks. Yes, yes, yes, Sequence. I’m ready to jump on a train again. Hopefully, the correct train, given my sense of direction. Love!
Eileen J
March 20, 2018
Hi Renee, it’s Eileen here, you have captured her essence beautifully. I’ve had the gift of a reunion with her as well, lots of wonderful memories. The best part of long term friendship is the give and take a f the memories that I’ve long forgotten that she nudged out of me and me her. It was joyful for me to read your piece. Keep on doing your thing.
Life in the Boomer Lane
March 21, 2018
Thanks, Eileen. Your comments mean a lot to me. The four of us laughed about events remebered, events never known about, and events remembered in a different way. I know we are all richer for that. Of course, your name came up, and I got to remember your killer wit and the bottle (Scotch? bourbon?) in the motel room in Atlantic City. I know that, at the end of my life, I’d like my friends to smile when they remember the secrets we shared and laugh when they remember the mischief we made.
pegoleg
March 21, 2018
This is lovely, Renee. I’m so sorry about your friend, yet so happy about your friendship.
Life in the Boomer Lane
March 21, 2018
Thanks, Peg. One of the gifts of writing that I am truly grateful for is to be able to honor people with my words. And sharing that with others is even more special.
Janice Toub
March 21, 2018
Dearest Renee and everyone who has responded to my story I want to say thank you. This is J. and I read our blog about 20 times in 12 hours. I am incredibly touched and honored that you wrote so beautifully about me. I did not get everything I wanted in life (Rhett Butler kissing me) but I did have a very good life. The best things were wonderful parents, a lifetime of fabulous friends, and outstanding experiences. I did not have children ,other than the ones in school, and I always wanted to leave my mark on the world. I guess I was more appreciated than I ever realized. Thank you Renee for Susan Hayward, Bette Davis, Buzby Berkley, and most of all your unforgettable friendship
Janice Toub
March 21, 2018
April 27th certainly works for me or any date sooner. The more often the better.
Life in the Boomer Lane
March 21, 2018
Ah, Janice, I am so happy you were touched by the post. We all have an effect on this world that goes far beyond what we are aware of. You have had that and will continue to have that. People want another installment of your story. Can we do that? If so, mark April 27 on your calendar. We’ll be back with more food and mayhem. No Rhett Butler, but maybe a counple non-human surprises. Love–
Patricia M
March 23, 2018
I so enjoyed your blog. This is to J, please keep writing for us if you can. Seeing this thru your eyes is very eye opening. Rhett Butler is a babe I’ll have to agree lol. Blessings to you.
Life in the Boomer Lane
March 23, 2018
Ah, thanks, Patricia. Janice will love this comment.
that little voice
March 27, 2018
I’m in tears at the love and joy.
Life in the Boomer Lane
June 30, 2018
Ah, thanks. Sorry, I didn’t see your comment until just now. We all hope that our love for others continues, even when we are gone. Janice’s certainly will.
Shaina
June 30, 2018
Hi I had the pleasure of meeting Miss Toub when she was in the hospital. One afternoon I spent the day in her room telling my life story and she gave me some great advice. But I say that to say even though she was in the hospital she had a way with words. She made me laugh and made me fill comfortable enough to tell her what I was going through. At first looking at her I thought she was a crazy old lady but looks can be deceiving. She was very intelligent.
Life in the Boomer Lane
June 30, 2018
These comments mean so much to the people who cared about Janice. None of us ever appreciates the influence we have on others, as we go about our lives. Janice’s intelligence and wit survived whatever her body didn’t. I am so happy that her gifts had a positive impact on you. She will not be forgotten.
Anonymous
September 19, 2018
Mrs Toub was my teacher many years ago…She definitely was halirious I was looking for her on fb to reconnect and see if she remembered me and I found this instead may she Rest In Peace
Life in the Boomer Lane
September 19, 2018
Your comments mean a lot to those who cared about Janice. I knew that she loved being a teacher. She certainly loved her students. I suspected that she brought her humor into the classroom, and I am happy that you have confirmed it. Her parents and brother were gone, and she had no children. She was afraid that people wouldn’t remember her. I knew her friends would, and I hoped her students would. Again, I am happy that you have confirmed this. I suspect she is resting in peace and continuing to create laughter all around her.