A Farewell Tribute

My friend Daphne passed away Sunday morning. It was not unexpected, as she'd been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer over a year ago, but she had a relatively slowly-progressing case and had done reasonably well for quite some time. Word came from her sister Sheila a week ago that Daphne had decided it was time to stop eating. She had struggled with nausea caused by the cancer for months, but she had finally had enough and made the decision to go on her own terms.

At the time of her diagnosis last year, I was particularly worried that she would not survive or be healthy enough to attend my and David's wedding the following June. Pancreatic carcinomas are notoriously nasty cancers, and hers was invasive enough by the time it was found that it was inoperable. We felt very fortunate that she was, ultimately, able to be there, as she was instrumental in our finding the venue for the wedding (see this post). Also, the B&B where the wedding party stayed and where we held the reception used to be a cabin owned by her father.

Daphne had cerebral palsy and fairly severe scoliosis, but she never slowed down. She sang in choirs, lived very independently, led an active social life, served on the board of the chapel where David and I got married, and for many years was the postmistress for the seasonal post office serving the little summer colony where she was one of the few year-round residents. I knew her for several years from a Maine lgbt listserv but didn't meet her in person for the first time until just a few years ago. She was the kind of spirit, though, who really made an impression on everyone around her, and the world is ever so much better for having had her in it.

Here's a photo of Daphne from this past July taken at a get-together that I wasn't able to attend, as it was just a couple weeks after the wedding. She was nearly 11 months post-diagnosis at this point and had lost quite a bit of weight, but the joy that made her such a treasure to know is still so clear. She will be missed, but she'll live on in the hearts of all she touched, which is the best possible tribute to her life.



If you want to read a bit more about Daphne and another life she touched, Mary-Helen also has a lovely tribute to her.

They Say It Comes in Threes

This is not the blog post I had planned, but sometimes life doesn't give you a choice.

1. I headed out the door to go to work yesterday afternoon, hopped in the car and backed out of the driveway. As soon as I started forward, I heard a horrible grinding noise and new instantly what it was. I pulled off into the next driveway and confirmed that my front driver side tire was flat as a pancake. I got the car back into my own drive without damaging the wheel rim, thankfully, and took David's truck instead.

2. Work was physically, mentally and emotionally draining. I've had busier nights, but I had a lot of surgical procedures, which kept me very occupied and made it difficult to maintain good forward momentum. Add into that one of those surgeries arresting under anesthesia, and it was just not a good night.

3. Last and worst of all. I got home from work at around noon to see that my little old man, Poqui, was bleeding from the mouth more than he had been. He'd been in decline for a while and developing some trouble eating, but I'd hoped it was just bad teeth and had even done bloodwork last night in preparation for anesthetizing him next week to clean them. Today, though, I could see that his tongue was pushed dramatically to one side, and I was sure that it wasn't anything good.

We took him to the emergency clinic across the river in Portsmouth, which is much, much closer than my own workplace, and they helped me get an IV catheter in and sedate him so that I could look (he hated to have me look in his mouth and got more difficult the older he got). One look confirmed what I had feared - a large, invasive tumor under and in his tongue and working its way deep into his oral cavity.

There was, of course, only one option. I brought him home, still heavily sedated, and we sat in the grass, with sun shining and seabreeze blowing, and I said my goodbyes and helped him shuffle out of this life. You might think that for all the years I've been doing this for a living, it would get just a little bit easier, but it doesn't. Not one little bit.

I first met Poqui on July 5, 1989, when he was no more than a few hours old. Over the last 18 years, I was able to watch the entire arc of his life from beginning to end. He traveled with me through pretty much all of my adult life and outlived other, equally loved pets. And for much as it hurts right now, I know that the time I had with him was privileged and precious, and I wouldn't trade one second of it.


Little Old Man Poqui: 5 July, 1989 - 31 August, 2007