One of the deeper fears Marie ever mentioned was, “losing my mind”. She was at peace with life and ready to face death, but having seen many friends with dementia in their later years, she clearly knew what she did not want to endure. So, it was ironic — and very scary — that her final disease was brain cancer.

Although it is perverse to be grateful that she died sooner than later, it was truly a blessing that the cancer acted quickly. Marie had kept the nagging suspicions to herself for as long as a year, and made her first request for medical care just 10 weeks before her death. She survived only 5 weeks after the glioblastoma diagnosis was confirmed in early December — a rapid process that spared her from living after “losing her mind”.

Marie initially consented to both radiation and chemo therapy in an attempt to extend her life, but the cancer acted far too quickly. Her brain swelled too much for radiation to be started, so she began chemo the week before Christmas. However, rapidly dimming prospects for improvements in reading or painting coupled with intense pain from chemo-induced mouth sores (thrush) convinced Marie to switch to hospice care.

Marie lived at home throughout her illness. In a scary beginning, Tom and I had to call the EMTs for help one night when Marie slipped to the carpet as we moved her to the bedroom on her wheeled walker. That was the wake up call to be careful — we could not afford to make any wrong moves that might hurt either Marie or ourselves. With the help of the Parkview Home Health & Hospice team, we rapidly learned proper techniques for feeding, transporting, cleaning, and medicating Marie.

Marie graced us with many special moments during those last few weeks. Hours spent together wrapping her hand-painted ornaments as Christmas gifts were truly wonderful. Susi’s preparation of and Marie’s signature on notes to 29 of her children were very touching. Visits from dozens of Tom’s and Marie’s friends gave us a glimpse of the warmth that this circle of beautiful people have developed over the past 62 years. We enjoyed humorous relief with comments like, “blame it on the tumor” and the launch of Marie’s new rap career with what will become a classic — No Mo’ Chemo. Distant friends, especially her brother Tom Bolton and her grandson Ben, were welcomed into the living room via Skype. Long vigils on the last nights gave us quiet moments together with Marie and each other.

It was truly a blessing to both Marie and us when she finally declared an end to chemo. Slowly but surely she had been letting go of various worries like finishing painting projects, getting cookies made, and sending Christmas gifts. With the acceptance of hospice care, she slowly let go of the struggle to live, and I think that she truly felt good about the peaceful transition into her death.

The stress of illness tends to amplify what is inside someone, and seeing Marie under that magnifying glass indelibly burned a very beautiful image on my own brain and in my heart. She was gracious and thankful for every little thing that anyone did for her. She was more concerned with how we were dealing with her illness than for herself. She totally swamped Pastor Rick when he visited — not with any requests for herself, but that he take over her prayers for all of “her children”. In the most painful moments, she showed both her faith and her feisty backbone by asking to die and chastising only God for not taking her soon enough. She rallied momentarily when her grand daughters visited, showing us the most beautiful smile as she struggled to raise her arms in a hug. I have to believe that Marie was looking both backwards at life and forwards toward eternity as among her final words she sang snippets of What a Wonderful World.

We miss you, Marie. We always will. Thank you again for the wonderful gift that you have been to all of us.