# The Last Snow of The Season



## Winston (Mar 25, 2018)

I remember when Jim and Mary moved up here from California.  They didn't get much snow where they used to live, but we get our share here.  My wife and I got used to the snow after a few years, and it was fun watching my in-laws adapt.  

At first, Mary was awe-struck by the beauty of the snow.  It was like she was a girl again, gushing.  "It's so pretty!", she exclaimed.
After a few storms, and not being able to drive anywhere, her mood soon changed.  We had a good laugh after Mary's enthusiasm melted:
"It's just not pretty anymore!"    

Jim and Mary lived in that house for 15 years. It was a custom-built rambler with tasteful landscaping at the end of a quiet road.  Their neighborhood was a few hundred feet higher in elevation than ours, and that meant more snow, more often.  One of their adjustments was to buy a four wheel drive vehicle.  No matter how comfortable a house, no one wants to be stuck there.

When Jim got sick, we did our best to help Mary keep the place up.  The Pacific Northwest is damp and cold, but weeds and moss don't seem to mind.  Mary lost a kidney to cancer a few years earlier, but she still found the energy to keep the house tidy.  We installed a hand rail to help Jim get in and out of the house, when he got better and came home.  He never did.  

Mary was a strong woman, but the loss of her beloved Jim took something out of her.  As a family, we planed to have one of us look after Mary.  That duty fell to Mary's daughter Catherine.  It was a hard adjustment for both of them, Mary trying to maintain some semblance of independence, while Catherine supported her just enough to maintain Mary's dignity.

It was the start of winter, and Mary was sleeping a lot.  Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD) is common here, coupled with Mary missing Jim, her excessive sleeping seemed kind-of normal.  The days are short, skies are grey and the temperature hovers in the mid 30's. We were all keeping an eye on Mary, even her daughter from Texas flew in to help.

Still, at one point, Mary's lethargy became a concern.  We scheduled  an appointment with her doctor.  

Her cancer was back.  It was Leukemia. 

The doctors had a plan in place, and were optimistic.  And Mary was a strong woman.  But like driving on a slick road in the winter, skill and preparation are often not enough.  The medicine that was beating the cancer made her susceptible to infection.  Her lungs were soon scarred, and she wasn't getting enough oxygen.  We had hoped that she would be going home.  And she would be.  Just not to that rambler on the quiet street.  She was going home to Jim.

Mary was my fourth "death watch", after seeing both my parents and Jim die.  Each death is personal, but we are bound by the same celestial and earthly restraints.  My wife, as executor of Mary's will, had to make the decision to not employ "extraordinary means" to prolong Mary's life.   
So we waited.

While she was fighting the cancer, Mary had a large number of bags hanging from the I.V. pole.  The electric pump next to the bed clicked and buzzed.  But soon it was quiet.  The I.V. pole had fewer and fewer bags, looking like a metal tree losing plastic leaves.  The only sounds from within the room was Mary's raspy breathing.

Day after day, Mary's color faded.  Her skin was not pink, nor white.  It became grey, like the dirty snow that piles up along the side of the road. Her daughter brushed Mary's hair, and large clumps came out on the brush.  The nurses came in regularly, to make sure that the few I.V. bags left were dispensing the pain killers.

My dad had COPD, and I know that a lack of oxygen can impair brain function.  What lucid thoughts remained in Mary's head, we would not know.  One of the last conversations with Mary was her daughter's confirming that she wanted me to have Jim's old San Francisco's Giants baseball hat.  To say that was awkward would be an understatement.  Of course, I was honored to be thought of.  But it was just a thing.  And it doesn't even fit me.  But we loved The Boys of Summer.      

We sat, reminisced, and talked to Mary.  To be brutally honest, I don't think she heard 95% of what was said, and didn't understand the other 5%.  But that part isn't for the dying.  We lie and tell ourselves that they're listening.  But the talking is for our benefit.  To hide our denial, and mask our fears.  

Mary's room window gave us a view of the nearby city, with the forest and mountains in the distance.  The skies were grey, but it would not rain.  The hospital staff was kind, and brought us food.  We made calls, checking in with the other members of the family.  Mary's breathing creaked and rattled, like the branches of a tree ready to break.  

Like in that verse from Ecclesiastes (or The Byrds song) the season changed right in front of us.  A white sheet was pulled over Mary.  The room was cold, and quiet, except for the sobbing.  Dry, except for the tears splashing on the floor tiles.  

We picked-up our phones and tissues, and shuffled out to our cars.  Mary was at peace, but there was much to be done. 


It's been a few months since Mary's passing.  We sold her pretty house to a nice couple who we think will appreciate it.  My wife and in-laws have been fighting off-and-on over trivial estate matters.  I keep Jim's hat in my office.  I just wish I was man enough to fill it.

We had a late season snow.  Not too bad, just enough to make everything white and make driving difficult.  
But when the snow falls, and it is quiet, I find myself wanting to ask Mary one question...

"Is it pretty again?"


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## Plasticweld (Mar 25, 2018)

Very nicely written.  Thanks for sharing part of your life and observations with us.


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## Cannonfury (Mar 28, 2018)

Wow, very nice..ma​de me a little emotional in the end


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## Olly Buckle (Apr 1, 2018)

> we planed to have one of us look after Mary


'Planned', double 'n' or it sounds like shaving off wood.



> The hospital staff was kind, and brought us food.


 A strange one, it is 'the' staff, singular, but the staff consists of a number of people, so 'were kind', plural.



> I remember when Jim and Mary moved up here from California. They didn't get much snow where they used to live, but we get our share here.


I actually wondered if 'where they used to  live' was a different place from 'California' for a second, look;

"I remember when Jim and Mary moved up here from California. They didn't get much snow there, but we get our share here.

Also,you know where 'Up here' is, we don't.


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## dither (Apr 2, 2018)

That's one helluva a tale Winston.

Ditto what PW said.


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