It was one year ago today that Kathy’s mother, Jan Gall, died after a long struggle with Parkinson’s and Alzheimer’s. She was 69 years old.  It some ways that day seems like yesterday- and in other ways that day feels like something from an entirely different lifetime.  I visited my mother-in-law late that morning – in fact, I was the last visitor she had aside from Harbor House staff – and there was no question that her time was drawing short.  I was thankful for her that it was so quiet and that she seemed so peaceful, curled up under her blankets, in a deep sleep which was soon to deepen into death.  By 1:30 that afternoon she was gone – and as sad as we were to have to let her go, we were so relieved that her suffering and struggle had come to an end.

One of the neatest things about that day was how incredibly close we all felt to each other  as we gathered first at Harbor House and then at our house to make plans.  I know that sometimes such moments are fraught with tension or complicated by disagreements but we were in perfect accord, and I can still feel that warmth as we gathered as a family.  In fact, the closest thing to a disagreement came as we started talking about hymns for the funeral. Apparently the Methodists usually sing two and I was pushing for us to choose four or five – what the heck, we’re a family that loves to sing.   I didn’t get my way, but I did persuade everyone for us to splurge and sing three hymns- and it’s a good thing too because the congregation that gathered for the funeral sang like the Mormon Tabernacle Choir times three.   That’s something else that is still with me, as though it were yesterday – the glorious sound that filled the EUM sanctuary as we gathered to remember Jan and celebrate her life.

And I don’t think any of us will ever forget the experience of the night before the funeral, when we were overrun at EUM by literally hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of people who came to pay their respects.  At one point the line stretched around the perimeter of the sanctuary, out the door, and around the block.  It was as though some head of state had passed away- and I hope that Jan was looking down and enjoying the sight of so many people coming to honor and remember her.  After all, most of Jan’s life was spent out of the spotlight, playing essential roles behind-the-scenes to support Bob in his many projects and performances – and to cheer on both of her daughters in all that they did.  This is the main reason why the decision was made to make the funeral about her- and for none of us to sing or speak or in any other way to play any sort of public role except to join with the congregation and thank God for this gifted, gracious woman who added so much to our lives.

There were a lot of different pictures I could have chosen to accompany this blog entry, but I decided to choose one of the very last photographs we took of Kathy’s mom- Christmas Day 2005 (I think) – when we visited her at Harbor House and brought her some Christmas cheer – chiefly in her beloved granddaughter Lorelai.  By that point there was very little that could cut through the fog, but Lorelai could do it- and when she was sitting on Jan’s lap, it was the closest we came to catching a glimpse of the “old” Jan experiencing real joy.  It saddens me – it saddens all of us in the family – that Lorelai will have no memories of her Grandmother Gall. But there are pictures and there are stories galore which she will be told – just like Matt and Randi are doing with their three kids or Steve and Scott are doing with Henry in telling them all about the Grandma Bev that they never got to know – and who would have loved to be their grandmother more than anything in the world. (She didn’t live long enough to be a grandmother for even a day.)  In light of that, it makes me all the more grateful that Jan could delight in being a grandmother for as long as she did – and that Polly and Mark and the rest of us will do all we can to let Lorelai know what a wonderful, loving, giving, fun-loving, life-embracing woman her Grandma Jan was. . . and how much we miss her.