I started writing this months ago. Like a lot of my words, it sat idle in draft status. Now all my verbs are edited to past tense.
Somewhere I had a photo to go with it, but after going through my files for an hour, I gave up. Maybe I can paint a picture for you, but let’s start at the end.
Jane Witherell passed away a week or so ago after a long hard battle with several chronic diseases. Whenever I described my symptoms, she always said, “That’s exactly the way I feel.” Turns out, she had the same weird disease that turned my life upside down.
She had every reason to feel sorry for herself, but she didn’t. She smiled. She always, always, always smiled. Larger than life, she loved big – she loved her sweet mama; her golf kids, their parents and grandparents; and she loved Jesus.
Often telling big tales, you could believe most of what she said. Though I have my doubts about the controversy over her birth certificate because she was born on a boat right on the state line. That was a good one!
Finish high
Jane was truly one-of-a-kind. For years, I took golf lessons from her and we laughed until we cried. I will forever hear her voice in my head when I swing a club,
“Finish high Vickie.”
An unlikely place for a dinner party
I would have preferred inviting her to my house for dinner. She definitely would have preferred coming to my house. In fact, she’d probably rather have been just about anywhere else.
A few months ago, Jane moved back to her hometown, except she wasn’t able to live alone anymore. So, she moved into a nursing home.
It was an unlikely place for a dinner party.
Until next time
I transported soup in one of my favorite nesting bowls with a plastic snap lid. There was some leftover and she wanted to keep it. We decided I could get it next time we shared a meal. But there wasn’t a next time.
Inviting myself back a few weeks later, I texted her and she replied, “Wait until after the first of the year.” Well, the first of the year came and went and the next time I saw her, she was hospitalized, getting weaker and weaker. When I said goodbye, she said what she always said, “I love you.”
I love you too Jane.
Next time we share a meal, it won’t be soup out of a plastic bowl, it will be a feast.
“On this mountain the Lord almighty will prepare a feast of rich food for all peoples, a banquet of aged wine – the best of meats and the finest of wines. On this mountain he will destroy the shroud that enfolds all peoples, the sheet that covers all nations; he will swallow up death forever. The Sovereign Lord will wipe away the tears from all faces…” Isaiah 25:6-8a
Taste like chicken
It was a busy weekend for me. You must be shocked to hear that. Knowing I would be pressed for time, I repurposed oven-roasted turkey. You know, the secret recipe I hinted at but never shared. Using a creamy chicken noodle soup recipe, I added the already-cooked-turkey to the egg noodles, along with the other ingredients.
The soup was delicious, but I was most proud of the presentation. I packed a couple of bright yellow soup bowls, spoons, sparkling waters and most important; holiday-colored napkins. It really was the special touch we needed. Darn, I wish I could find the picture of her holding it in her lap.
Oh well, who wants to see soup anyway. Instead, I’ll remember her this way.
Without fanfare
Jane is no longer struggling for every breath. Her body is healed and I’m sure she is smiling like always.
I thought there wasn’t going to be a service. Seems weird to not celebrate her life, when she touched so many. Now it looks like there is a memorial to honor her today.
Consider this my tribute.
If I could whisper one more thing in her ear, I’d repeat her words back to her….
Finish high, Jane. Finish high
And she did.
If you want to know more about myasthenia gravis, you can read about it here.
Click here to read Jane’s obituary
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