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Siri, Recalculate My Life, Please
by Jane Everham
I’m a bit lost. On December 9, 2023, life gave me a detour, a very big one– a free-fall through clouds, through dreams. Brian, my husband of 33 years, died way too quickly, of stage four lung cancer. He told a friend that he knew he was dying, and he was not afraid. He didn’t tell me--he said he had something to say to me, but he gave priority to NOT dying--he worked hard to breathe and heal--not talk. I clung to magical thinking believing Pathways Hospice would be a blip on the way to recovery. Instead, in less than 24 hours there, Brian died.
My adult son K and I returned home from Pathways, and he picked up a bottle of Prosecco – “Let’s drink a toast to Dad.” It did not seem like a great idea--but drinking myself into a stupor did feel like a good possibility. I like to believe I would have come to my senses--no certainty about that--but I was rescued by the immediate arrival of one of my church’s ministers who came to begin the process of companioning K and me on this very dark journey we had just begun.
That was the beginning of project “Airlift” for Jane and K. The hard landing was replaced by the capture and uplift of the most incredible community effort of love, care, strong hugging arms, and kind words by so many family members, friends, and especially congregants in my Foothills Unitarian Church. I have experienced other deaths, other hard landings, but this loss was bigger, deeply personal, and so life changing.
I received visits, cards, flowers, soup, hugs, wine, kind words, a choir singing with candles in front of my house on a dark winter night, hugs, a heart wrapped in Christmas lights in my front yard, bread, a foot massage, calls, texts, and more cards. Every visitor offered me a glass of water. I did not know that was a thing, but oddly my habit of drinking water every day stopped at the onset of Bri’s brief illness.
This “Rescue” lasted months! I expected it to culminate after the late April Celebration of Life, but it didn’t. Brian’s death broke my heart and broke my heart open to spill so much gratitude for the care I received. Brian’s death has also brought a cornucopia of loving, caring, interesting people into my life. Some may fade away, but they will always be known and appreciated in a new way, a blessing way.
I’d been afraid of how I would manage, not the rest of my life, but in those upcoming summer months where the calendar was blank. But life happens and events popped up regularly and I continue to be busy, distracted, held in care by the amazing people in my life. I am losing my fear of the upcoming months (even January does not scare me), but beyond that there still exists uncertainty, anxiety, and emptiness, and this is where I need you, Siri.
I want my life to stay intentional. I want my life to continue to have purpose, joy even. I want to leave this life knowing my life had meaning. I believe I have about 20 years left: it is not time to rest, but I do not have a roadmap. Brian and I allowed space in our togetherness, but we made all-important decisions together. We coordinated all fun and entertainment together. I do not look forward to doing it alone.
“I am woman,” I howl rather than roar. I can be strong--not sure about invincible—I love life and will soldier on. I will learn to be a strong, single woman. The love and care that buoyed me for so many months has diminished, but friends assure me daily that support is still out there and they will answer my distress calls any hour of the day.
Siri, on second thought – maybe I don’t need you.
Jane Everham grew up in the Chicago suburbs in the 50's and 60's. She moved to Colorado to attend Denver University with no intentions of ever leaving. After earning an Educational Specialist degree in School Psychology at UNC, she worked for 34 years in the public schools in Cheyenne, Wyoming and Fort Collins, Colorado. After retirement in 2011, she actively volunteered with the Larimer League of Women Voters, Foothills Unitarian Church, and progressive politics. She loves to have lunch with friends, read voraciously, and travel.
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