Farewell to another loved one

My friend, Jean Orr, passed away last night. I found out via Facebook, a way which seems terribly impersonal and yet I'm not sure I would have wanted anyone outside of my family to see me melt into tears the way that I did.

Jean was a member of my church, and for the past three years, she and her husband, Floyd, were the leaders of the shepherd group I belonged to. It is the way of our church to rotate shepherd groups, so I've not been part of theirs for a few months. That didn't stop Jean from checking up on me.

Jean had a way about her that few people possess. She was simultaneously no-nonsense and almost psychic in her recognition of pain. This meant that she could spot a false "fine" from a mile off.  When she asked, "How are you?" she genuinely wanted to know, and if you gave a non-answer, she'd call you out with a warm, half-smile that encouraged confidence and enough life experience to really offer answers.

Jean saw us through the loss of Mark, my husband's younger brother. She helped me through the birth of Ducky, and she was the first friendly face I saw in the hospital after my car accident. Jean became a part of our lives and she was there one-hundred percent, available at a moment's notice to help because she looked on everyone as family.

When this final chapter of her life descended, her family asked that friends not visit. She had so little energy and so little time left, that she needed to save it for immediate family. I can imagine how hard that was for her.  Probably Floyd and her children had to beg her to save her energy.  So, the last time I was able to spend much time with Jean was in May.  Pumpkin had STAR testing then, and I had just suffered a seizure, so I wasn't driving. It happened that his STAR testing took place at the church across the street from her home, and I had called to ask if I could spend the time with her and then take the bus home when he was done. There is a bus stop across from her home. But she'd have none of it. She told me she'd drive us home, so for three days, Ducky and I spent mornings with her waiting for the call from the proctors and then she drove us home. In that time we spent, I learned she was getting ready for surgery, to remove some growths that had been found. Getting ready meant rearranging, cleaning, and basically preparing everything so that she would leave things as easy for Floyd as possible. That's just the type of person she was.

Those three days seem such a blessing now. Each morning, we'd take a walk in the field across from her house. Ducky picked up colored rocks and pointed to plants, and she answered endless questions. Meanwhile Jean and I talked about everything: her marriages, her courage to take her kids and leave when the first marriage really bombed out, sewing for money when work was hard to find, the incredible love she had for Floyd, her admiration for Floyd, her love for her children, and her fears for the surgery.

After the walk each day, we'd rearrange furniture, clean out things, and prepare. She wanted meals ahead and she wanted her bedroom rearranged so that she could convalesce easily. Her house was already immaculate by my estimation, but she managed to find things to take out and dust bunnies in places most people would never think about.  It was then that she gave me a home-made shopping bag full of old magazines.  I used that shopping bag today and thought how it is always going to be a reminder to me of my wonderful friend. I can imagine her clever hands making it. And while some people might prefer a photograph of a loved one, it seems perfect. I picture her face each time I use it, her knowing half-smile, her perfectly groomed hair, a little bit of color in her cheeks from walking, clothing that seemed never to get the slightest bit of dust on it. This very practical bag somehow brings her voice back to me too, the way she'd laugh lightly, or give advice that I didn't even know I was seeking, until she'd said it. "Take a step back, honey. Love them, but don't let them hurt you.
Love can be at a safe distance until it is time to come closer." And Jean would like it that something useful reminded me of her. She was very practical. Despite the fact that she was beautiful and possessed that rare ability to never be touched by dirt or baby handprints, she was not frivolous. She was so practical that she even thought to put pockets in the heavy-duty bag she built.

Jean, I loved you. You meant more to me than you can ever know now. I know we did not know each other long. God knows I would have liked to have you in my life longer. When you reached out to me and my family, you reached out with your whole being, nothing held back whatsoever. That's what I want to be like. In three years, your impact on my life was so great that I am forever changed, and for the better. That's a skill, lady. Maybe the best there is. Sleep well. You've earned it.