They married and bought a sprawling house in Grosse Pointe. Lynne thought it was so funny, Cal and his solid house, big enough for an army. “You just don’t know how much trouble a big house can be!” she lectured.
“That’s right,” he said. “And I want to know.”
They talked about the children they would have because they both wanted at least two. Cal still wasn’t sure if things would be better or worse if they’d gotten right on that and had a child or two. Like Atticus Finch, he’d be a solemn widower lawyer, bringing up his children alone, filling them with pride and accountability. But they hadn’t done it and now he was completely alone.
As soon as they started trying for a baby, the nightmare of scleroderma invaded their lives. The painful disease of the connective tissue presents as a hardness and inflexibility of the skin and, in Lynne’s case, internal organs. At first they were optimistic and researched the disease, hoping that she’d be one of the lucky ones and get twenty years or even a cure.
It was not to be. The disease worsened rapidly and she was admitted into a research program. Again, she was not one of the lucky ones. The disease progressed quickly and Lynne spent two years battling the pain and immobility, not to mention disfigurement of her face and arms. That’s when she asked him. “I know we’re on the same page here, Cal. If my kidneys shut down or my heart gives out, so be it. No resuscitation. But if it takes too long, please, don’t let me suffer in pain. I wouldn’t let you, I swear to God. It’s not like there’s any hope.”
He promised.
She fought hard for as long as she could and they both prepared for what they knew would happen. Ultimately she had said, “It’s time. Please. I love you so much but I can’t do this anymore.” And Cal slid the needle into her IV, injected the morphine slowly, then crawled onto the bed, took his beautiful wife in his arms, held her and told her how she meant everything to him, kissing the tears from her face as she passed into the next world.
He looked up into the rapidly darkening sky streaked with wispy clouds. “Do you still think it was a good idea, Lynne?” He wished he knew if, wherever she was, in whatever form or realm, she was still okay with her choice. That it hadn’t been even one hour too soon. Because there were so many days when he thought about what he would trade for another hour with her. He’d gladly have given ten years of his own life for one of hers.
As per her wishes, there was no funeral. There was a celebration of life, standing room only. There were poor people, rich people, common criminals mixed up with wealthy family and friends from back East. There were politicians, illegals, lawyers and well-known thugs—between Lynne and Cal, their clients had been of every stripe. The governor delivered a few words; doctors and nurses who had fallen in love with her during her illness were present. She was beloved to so many. She had been so courageous.
He reached into his backpack and pulled out a leather satchel. The mortuary had transferred her ashes from the urn for him because you don’t take an urn on a long hike. The pouch was soft and solid. He held it to his heart briefly. Then he poured the ashes in a little mound on the ground. The breeze stole a little off the top right away. He remembered her last wishes.
Here’s what I want from you, California Jones. I want to be cremated. No funeral, I hate funerals. If you have to have some kind of party, you go ahead, do whatever gets you through it. Then I want you to find a beautiful place and dump my ashes on the ground. Let the wind take me away, Cal. And then I want you to let go of me. The only way you can honor my memory is with your happiness.
* * *
Cal stayed for three days in the spot where he’d let go of Lynne’s ashes. Water was readily available from a nearby stream. He suspected he was sharing the water with open-range cattle and wildlife, but it was good, clear water and he had a great water filter. He drank it and washed in it and it was cold as bloody hell, shocking him into awareness. He spent his time ruminating on his life with Lynne and tried to come to terms with the hard parts, the end of her life. He spent the days and nights focused on her because he was going to have to leave it behind eventually. It wasn’t as though he’d forget her, but he hoped the time had finally come for moving on. The past two years had been so lonely. And he’d held on long enough.
“That’s right,” he said. “And I want to know.”
They talked about the children they would have because they both wanted at least two. Cal still wasn’t sure if things would be better or worse if they’d gotten right on that and had a child or two. Like Atticus Finch, he’d be a solemn widower lawyer, bringing up his children alone, filling them with pride and accountability. But they hadn’t done it and now he was completely alone.
As soon as they started trying for a baby, the nightmare of scleroderma invaded their lives. The painful disease of the connective tissue presents as a hardness and inflexibility of the skin and, in Lynne’s case, internal organs. At first they were optimistic and researched the disease, hoping that she’d be one of the lucky ones and get twenty years or even a cure.
It was not to be. The disease worsened rapidly and she was admitted into a research program. Again, she was not one of the lucky ones. The disease progressed quickly and Lynne spent two years battling the pain and immobility, not to mention disfigurement of her face and arms. That’s when she asked him. “I know we’re on the same page here, Cal. If my kidneys shut down or my heart gives out, so be it. No resuscitation. But if it takes too long, please, don’t let me suffer in pain. I wouldn’t let you, I swear to God. It’s not like there’s any hope.”
He promised.
She fought hard for as long as she could and they both prepared for what they knew would happen. Ultimately she had said, “It’s time. Please. I love you so much but I can’t do this anymore.” And Cal slid the needle into her IV, injected the morphine slowly, then crawled onto the bed, took his beautiful wife in his arms, held her and told her how she meant everything to him, kissing the tears from her face as she passed into the next world.
He looked up into the rapidly darkening sky streaked with wispy clouds. “Do you still think it was a good idea, Lynne?” He wished he knew if, wherever she was, in whatever form or realm, she was still okay with her choice. That it hadn’t been even one hour too soon. Because there were so many days when he thought about what he would trade for another hour with her. He’d gladly have given ten years of his own life for one of hers.
As per her wishes, there was no funeral. There was a celebration of life, standing room only. There were poor people, rich people, common criminals mixed up with wealthy family and friends from back East. There were politicians, illegals, lawyers and well-known thugs—between Lynne and Cal, their clients had been of every stripe. The governor delivered a few words; doctors and nurses who had fallen in love with her during her illness were present. She was beloved to so many. She had been so courageous.
He reached into his backpack and pulled out a leather satchel. The mortuary had transferred her ashes from the urn for him because you don’t take an urn on a long hike. The pouch was soft and solid. He held it to his heart briefly. Then he poured the ashes in a little mound on the ground. The breeze stole a little off the top right away. He remembered her last wishes.
Here’s what I want from you, California Jones. I want to be cremated. No funeral, I hate funerals. If you have to have some kind of party, you go ahead, do whatever gets you through it. Then I want you to find a beautiful place and dump my ashes on the ground. Let the wind take me away, Cal. And then I want you to let go of me. The only way you can honor my memory is with your happiness.
* * *
Cal stayed for three days in the spot where he’d let go of Lynne’s ashes. Water was readily available from a nearby stream. He suspected he was sharing the water with open-range cattle and wildlife, but it was good, clear water and he had a great water filter. He drank it and washed in it and it was cold as bloody hell, shocking him into awareness. He spent his time ruminating on his life with Lynne and tried to come to terms with the hard parts, the end of her life. He spent the days and nights focused on her because he was going to have to leave it behind eventually. It wasn’t as though he’d forget her, but he hoped the time had finally come for moving on. The past two years had been so lonely. And he’d held on long enough.
