The loss of the “fun guy” was enormously impactful for me and the writing of this memoir. It marked the third loss in just three months of friends and family that had huge impacts on my life. In early June, I received word that Miriam, one of the best and kindest people that I have ever known passed away in just a matter of weeks after being diagnosed with lung cancer. Then, in early August, Alberta, a dear friend from college, passed away. She had struggled with Parkinson’s for several years, so her passing was not a huge surprise. Then, there was the death of the “fun guy” at the end of August. All three of these have given me pause to reflect on their impact on my life. They all knew that I loved them and cherished their friendship, but they may not have been aware of their long term and continuing impact on my adult life.
It is my hope that the story of the fungi and the “fun guy” conveyed the impact of my cousin, always bigger than life, seizing life by the handlebars and careening along. He was a total blast, a laugh-riot, very different from his buttoned-up brothers – one a research doctor and the other New York lawyer, both of whom are and were beloved to me.
Alberta will have her very own recounting in the memoir, for she figures in my college days when I was first defining and finding myself. Her effervescent personality buoyed me along during some turbulent times as I struggled to define myself in my college days.
Miriam, on the other hand, came into my life after college, as I approached my 30s. I met her at a kennel club meeting. She was a lifelong critter-freak. She loved animals, and they loved her back. Over the years I knew her, her personal menagerie included a de-scented skunk. She had to part with it because skunks are nocturnal and her family – 3 kids and husband—were all day people. She had a pygmy goat that grazed her in-town Wilmington, NC, backyard and was stabled in a dog crate with her other creatures. Last I saw her she was running a boarding kennel and still had a potbellied pig and a “skinny pig” (guinea pig) that would whistle happily when she approached. She had over the years many gorgeous show dogs – bull terriers, poodles, harriers and foxhounds.
From all this one could easily imagine that she was a woman of means. She was not. She was from Illinois farmland and was one of the hardest working people I have ever known. She groomed dogs, worked as an animal control officer and ran a boarding kennel lovingly caring for other people’s pets.
Critters figured big in her life, but as kind as she was to animals, she was kinder and more generous of spirit to her family and friends. When I first met her, the family consisted of her husband Ken, a kind and gentle person with a wonderful sense of humor, and three children. Miriam and Ken had met while they both worked for an institution caring for disabled children in Illinois. The older daughter and son were her biological children. Her third child, Craig, was adopted through Illinois social services. He was special. He was originally placed with Miriam and Ken as a foster child. They chose to adopt him, knowing he would never find a forever home if they did not. He had Downs Syndrome and was very sick as a baby. He was physically and mentally slow to develop even beyond the developmental delays of Downs. When I first met him, he was six years old and the size of a three-year-old and still in diapers. He did not talk. He communicated via sounds and a few words that Miriam understood and interpreted. He loved Jello and would excitedly call it “lello” over and over, if it was being served. His favorite playthings were a deck of cards that he would endlessly lay out on the floor and then pick up. As he grew older, he was diagnosed as autistic. He passed away at 56 just a few months before Miriam. He lived with her his entire life.
Ken died several years before Miriam from the ravages of frontal lobe dementia. Confronted with caring for two grown men both needing lots of personal care, she chose to put Ken in a nursing home, for her own safety. She made sure to visit him every day.
Miriam was a Buddhist and cherished all living things. She loved to grow things. Plants as well as animals. When I last saw her, we walked through her garden. It matched her lifestyle. Everything was thriving, but it was wonderfully random, not a disciplined garden, just beautiful plants growing where they would thrive not where she especially wanted them to grow.
What did I learn from Miriam? She taught me to not sweat the small stuff and to have faith that things would (and they often did) work out. She was quick to look out for someone’s unspoken needs and taught me how important small kindnesses are. Right after I met her, I injured my back and was briefly hospitalized. She wanted to come see me. I hardly knew her and was reluctant since I was not very fit. She suggested that perhaps if I got my hair washed, I would feel better. She and Craig showed up at my house and took me to get my hair done. It was a terrific outing, exactly what I needed. I spent many mornings on her porch with a cup of coffee in my hand solving the problems of the world. She was never too busy to spend time with a friend.
She moved back to the Wilmington area after Ken died. Her timing was terrible. Her home was flooded to the eaves by a hurricane. It was destroyed. She documented it in a series of heart wrenching Facebook posts. One comment struck me as so very Miriam. As the water receded five large propane tanks appeared in the mud and silt in her yard. She wondered whose propane tanks were grazing like some strange type cattle in her yard, for not one of them was hers. Instead of focusing on her considerable losses, she was concerned about other people’s missing property. She noted how grateful she was that her animals were all safe and that her son’s home was not badly damaged. She celebrated when she was able to get a new place to live.
She taught me many life lessons. I learned to worry more about people and less about things. She kidded me that I constantly scrubbed my kitchen floor (I did) and questioned my wisdom in doing so. I learned that it really didn’t need so much cleaning. She taught me to like myself more and to be kind to myself. I still to this day struggle with this lesson. Most of all I learned of the glow of unconditional love dispensed widely. I will miss her the rest of my life.