Life: A Love Story (warm, intimate)

Chapter 1

Dear Ruth Eimers,

I met Flo not long ago when she helped me to capture my runaway cat, and we quickly developed a deep friendship.

I found her to be charmingly straightforward, cheerful, and full of what I can only call simple grace.

I say “simple” not meaning grace without depth, but rather to differentiate it from a way of being that is perhaps a little elevated or self-aware.

The grace I witnessed in Flo seemed not something she aspired to, but rather a natural part of her.

Difficult as the world sometimes becomes for most of us, Flo seemed to hold an unalterable love and appreciation for it.

She did not deny life’s sorrows, but she chose to focus more on its compensations.

There was as well a guilelessness about her, and a giving quality that did not leave much room for self-absorption.

As you may know, Flo had been diagnosed with a cancer for which there was no cure, so in that sense she certainly was dressed up “intending to go somewhere.” Her attitude about the end of her life was philosophical; I believe she wondered about it more than she feared or grieved it.

(Though she did once mention that she would miss apple pie made by someone who didn’t skimp on cinnamon, and the sound of children at play, especially when they thought no adults were listening.)

Flo told me she had willed her house and its contents to you—you’ll be hearing from her lawyer in a separate communication—and that she was writing the enclosed letter to let you know more about some of the things here.

She said she also wanted to share some things about her life she felt were important to tell you, and asked that if she had not mailed this letter to you at the time of her demise, would I do so.

The letter is quite long, as you see, and I did not feel it was my place to read it. If, after reading it yourself, you have questions, I will try to answer them.

I’m not sure if Florence mentions this in her letter, but I am a death doula.

In my work, I try to offer a grounding and consistent presence to people in uncertain times, and to assist them with the transition from life to death in as peaceful and mindful a way as possible.

Sometimes people want help with clarification of medical terms, or someone to serve as intermediary in conversations with doctors or family members.

Sometimes I am asked simply to sit close by clients in silence, in order to bear witness.

I do not and cannot take away all suffering, but I hope to lessen it, and I try to teach clients to be open to new possibilities and perspectives, even or especially at the end of their lives—to understand how much living can be packed into a short amount of time, and to see that it is never too late for some very important realizations.

In my time with Flo, though, I was the student, and it is not an overstatement to say that what I learned from her changed my life.

I will leave you now to Flo’s letter. I too have written more than I intended to. But then, that was Flo: showing you the value of taking some time. The poet Dorianne Laux said, “Any good poem is asking you simply to slow down.” In that respect, Flo was a poem.

This comes with heartfelt condolences, and with the hope that whatever words Flo has sent you will soften the blow of her leave-taking. I believe it would please her to think that was so.

Sincerely,

Teresa McNair