A weird day with lessons

  

The chapel at the Air Force Academy

where Jim Clark will be buried

The only thing on my schedule today was the eleven o’clock celebration of life service for Jim Clark, husband of my good friend Jean. Jim had Alzheimer’s and caring for him and advocating for Alzheimer’s support groups has been Jean’s life for the last few years. I have tried to support her the best I could. One thing Jordan and I did was to assemble a big basket of snacks for the family who would be at her house tonight. Only hitch—when we took it to her house, Jean emptied it and returned the rather large basket. I told her that wasn’t part of the deal—she had to keep the basket. But she demurred.

We thought Christian was going with us to the service, but that was another hitch. Jacob was to be delivered to the church last night to go with the youth group to a weekend retreat at the church-owned property in Athens, Texas. Only somewhere, somehow there was a screw-up on times. Christian and Jacob found a dark, deserted church. Turns out the group left over two hours before Jacob got there. So this morning, at seven a.m., Christian left to drive Jacob to Athens. Side note: May I tell you what it sounds like when the van, parked outside my bedroom window and inches from my head, takes off at seven o’clock? A 747 taking off from my pillow. Anyway, Christian took Jacob but did not make it back in time for the eleven o’clock service.

The service was lovely—wonderful subtle music beforehand but not dull and dismal as you would think befits a memorial service. I caught strains of “How Great Thou Art” and some spirituals. The homily, delivered by a guest minister who was a personal friend, captured Jim perfectly and yet, as homilies should, spoke to all of us about our spiritual life, about living “the paradox” of discipline and freedom. Much of the service, including hymns, revolved around Jim’s career as a pilot and his lifelong loyalty to the Air Force Academy.

After the service of course we intended to go to the adjacent gallery to give Jean a hug,  but the staircase was crowded, and the crowd didn’t seem to move. No way I was tackling stairs with that many people on them. Larry Lauer, a colleague from TCU, hung around to help me, but we ultimately decided that we just wouldn’t try it. My walker is a problem in crowded rooms anyway.

So we were home by noon, and the rest of the day loomed. I read some rather deep things I’m exploring for a possible project, but I knew I didn’t want to do that all day. And I realized that’s where cooking comes in—it fills my day and fulfills me. I get busy in my tiny kitchen, and I’m perfectly happy. Tonight’s menu? Salmon cakes, carrots with butter and sugar, and one of my favorite salads—avocado, tomato, and blue cheese dressed with plain lemon juice. A lovely meal.

Jean called, and I was able to tell her yes, we were there, and to compliment her on the service. We had some good laughs—like the tomatoes I found in my fridge that were supposed to be in her goody basket. I told her that tomorrow, when all the family have left, if she wants to talk, wants a glass of wine, I am here. My family will be watching the Super Bowl with friends. But I will be here for Jean in the coming months. She’s a strong, self-reliant woman, but no telling when she’ll need a shoulder.

I guess that’s what life is most about—loving each other.