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| Inez, second from left, in 1976 |
My aunt Inez (my mother's older sister) had breast cancer several years ago, which spread and caused her to suffer through intense radiation treatments. Then she had an aortic valve replaced, and the surgery aggravated the cancer site. Her condition has turned for the worse these last few months. She has been in and out of, and mostly in, an intensive nursing facility. By the way, this seemed like a very professional, caring, and competent institution.
Today I met my uncle (her husband) Jimmy out there and visited Inez. I hadn't seen her since my uncle Billy's funeral some time last year. At that time she was alert, mobile with a walker, and able to communicate like normal.
Today, and I say this from a place of respect, she was unrecognizable, and looked as bad as any human being I've ever seen. She has shriveled to practically nothing, her face looked like skin and bones, she can't focus her eyes, her hair has mostly fallen out, she couldn't speak above a whisper, barely moved, couldn't respond, and was covered with sores. She was obviously in extreme pain, couldn't eat or swallow.
Mind you, this woman throughout my whole life has been very beautiful, vivacious, loving, and universally admired and loved. She's the only other person who had the exact same voice and smile as my mother. Her daughter, Debbie, my cousin, was extremely close to my mother and to all of us, and it was my mom who took care of all the arrangements and took care of Jimmy and Inez when Debbie died in a car accident before she reached 40. Every time I saw Jimmy thereafter, he told me to be good to my mother because she was so special.
What struck me was that Jimmy was there the whole time and had been there by her side the whole time. And he wasn't going anywhere either. In conversation before I went in the room, he thoroughly recounted everything she was going through, and was very descriptive about her condition and treatment options. As we walked the halls, everyone in the place said hi to him and obviously knew him, which is possible only if you've spent a lot of time there. As I visited Inez, he paid close attention to her and spoke softly to her and would gently touch her hand or her forehead.
Now, Jimmy had been a college football coach his entire life at major programs like Oklahoma, Kansas, Florida, Oklahoma State, Kansas State and Houston. So Jim was not exactly someone you'd call a "touchy feely" guy. He became a coach after having been an early football star first for the Galena Park Yellow Jackets (where he and Inez met) and then the University of Houston Cougars. As with most in the coaching profession, he was away from home a great deal and moved often when coaching staffs would turn over or a better opportunity came along. Inez had to raise her three kids, and be ready to quickly pack up, sell her house, buy a new one, and move the whole family, usually without a lot of help from Jim.
There he was though, after more than 50 years of marriage, right by her side, caring for her in her darkest hour, so she wasn't alone. Talking about "my wife" and being stronger than he really is at his age, so he could take care of her.
That's what true love is. Its not trips to cool places together or buying presents or big houses or going to the best restaurants or making friends with the right people or throwing cool parties together. Its sitting by your wife's side for weeks on end, after more than 50 years. Its remaining by her side when she may not even know you're there, and can't respond to you, and isn't a whisper of her self, and it never even occurs to you to do something else. Its staying there even when you know she's suffering in pain that you won't be able to resolve, but getting whatever kind of care for her that you can to ease that pain.
When I left he thanked me for coming and assured me that Inez knew who I was (which probably wasn't true).
Jimmy then returned to Inez's room to try to feed her the lunch the nurse had brought.
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