She was a brave woman who fought, furiously fought, with grace, beauty and courage almost beyond compare. She knew the odds and still she made her last year her best year. She started weak with an epileptic seizure, but only grew stronger. Day by day, by week, by month – 2007 was her year. The cancer grew, but she grew too. She won 365 battles. She started on the floor and slowly raised herself to heights seldom seen in the human experience.

She lived her beliefs. All of her life she grew towards this role, but in 2007 she lived it. Optimism and a smile lit the way. Her strength was her constant companion. Her bravery shone through. Her light was bright. She fought the good fight. She was rightfully proud. It’s never been done better. In the end she won when she lost the war. She was at peace and had succeeded in everything. Her children were grown. Her husband was proud. Her friends and family finally truly knew her mettle. She showed us all how close a human being can come to perfection.

It started on February 23rd and we are almost there. The next six months. The slow and gradual silence of sinking into the French morass, where everything slowly expires. The French quicksand that agonizingly inches, with normal French procrastination, till death do us part. We are almost there, and perhaps we will survive. No, sadly, not near my Minou. Not two floors above my beloved’s spirit, as I had envisioned. Not even in Paris. I don’t fit anymore. Many of the adults were nice, but the kids needed their space. I have to leave. The six month journey to that realization was exceedingly difficult. Six months and two weeks, to the day, and I will be gone.

On August 7th 2008 I will arrive back in the United States. Some years before, on that very same day, she had originally arrived in the United States to live permanently with me. That day worked beautifully for me. Yes, it took us 23 years to get to that day (we originally met July 1st, 1976) and another 9 to complete our sojourn. Those years are our story. Those years, especially the latter ten, are the magnificent memories that I will take home with me.

But it is the horror of the last six months that I want to leave behind. I’ve always had the capacity to eventually forgive and forget my failures. To learn and move on. It gets more difficult as you get older. I failed in the last six months and I have to accept responsibility for my failure. If I had been smart I would have taken my son’s very strong urgings, on the day a week after she died, to get on the plane and return with him. Right then! Sadly I wasn’t ready. I couldn’t do it. I should have. But I hadn’t yet learned.

The story of the next six months is failed communication. I failed in my efforts to communicate with her children. Utterly failed with one of them, semi failed with another, and just barely, ever so slightly, succeeded with the third. Oddly, the slight success was the only place where I had originally expected failure. Part of the problem was cultural, a little bit was political, and a much larger part generational; but the largest part was simply my failure. I could not overcome my pain fully enough to understand theirs. I could not put myself deep enough into their shoes to understand their yearnings and needs – their hurt and their reactions.

Too late I learned and now I leave. I’m ready. Five years of heaven, five months of hell. Finally I’m ready to move on. The next (and last) six months are over!

It’s a little hidden away – many, many things in Paris are a little hidden away. Still, it is on an outer wall for all to see. There are often plaques on various structures in Paris – quite a few worth reading. En ce bâtiment …. it begins. In this building …. My brother-in-law Antoine, a kind and gentle soul, specifically steered me to the site. He thought I might be particularly interested. He knew I was A Cowboy in Paris. He didn’t know then, though in an hour or two he would, that I was leaving Paris. He couldn’t know what a fitting end he was providing me. We were on the Left Bank, fairly near Saint-Germain-des-Pres in the 6th Arrondissement – 56 rue Jacob actually. The plaque read, in French:

In this building, in bygone days the York Hotel

On September 3rd, 1783

David Hartley for the King of England

Benjamin Franklin, John Jay, & John Adams for The United States

Signed the Definitive Treaty of Peace

Recognizing the Independence of

The United States of America

Daughter Desi,

This will come as an email, but I wrote it in After-words because I wanted it retained. I even changed the salutation because you have, in the last few months, become the best daughter a man ever had. I was, and am, broken; but it appears you will get me home in one piece. If I survive the next 10 days my primary family will have saved me. Minou got me through the last 10 years. Danny got me through the next two weeks. Christine got me through the following two months. You and your Mom managed to transport me through from then until today. Christine and you will get me through the next week. We will see if I can make it on my own the last two days. No matter what the outcome I’m supremely grateful to all of you. But especially to you Daughter Desi.
I am very scared of this trip. That is one of the reasons I know I am broken. I have always traveled well, I have always had a good time and I have always been confident that, no matter what, I would come up quickly with a right answer. Actually I still expect the first two to happen, and I hope that is enough to get me through. I couldn’t save my sweetheart and I am not sure I can save myself. I need to get home to heal. I need to be able to cry, to walk a dog, to see a tree, to hear English and know again that people are mostly good.

The fateful day began with a rattle. The rattle of the bars of the cage my love was now confined to. The bars of the hospital bed we had finally brought into the apartment two days before. It was her second night in the contraption. I was sleeping on the floor right next to her. It was just after 5:00 AM when I heard another rattle. She was trying to climb out again. Strangely enough it was almost exactly 30 hours before the 30 hours would begin. The final chapter had begun.

The situation had deteriorated rapidly in the last six weeks. There had been erratic but general progress for the first 11 months of 2007, but then a decided lull in December. It wasn’t exactly a regression, more like a lack of progression and possible slight slippages. Still Christmas was good and there was hope. In January it became clear we were headed downhill and the pace was quickening. February left no doubt. By now I knew the end was coming into play, though I did not expect it today. I knew her doctor was due at 10:00 and her best friend was due at noon. I had written them both notes while she slept to appraise them of the latest conditions and reiterating her last wishes. It had to be clear.

The rattling was louder. For weeks now I had helped her in her increasingly frequent trips in the middle of the night to the bathroom. At first it was simply guiding her down the hall and waiting outside the door just like during the day. Precautionary really, but occasionally the necessary intervention to steady her. Lately her steps had faltered more and the lurching increased. She had occasionally fallen, but always I was able to catch her and at least break the fall. Still I had known for weeks my physical strength was seriously ebbing. For the first time ever I banged on the wall and woke her daughter to help. I knew this time it would take two. Her daughter was young and strong and I was weak and old. It was time to pass the baton.

We managed, really she managed. We got her there, we got her back, and we got her settled. I told her daughter I couldn’t handle her alone anymore. I asked her to stay until the friend arrived at noon. She was due at work at 8:00 but agreed to stay till 10:00. I was petrified because I knew the situation was beyond me now. I too was disintegrating. The worst day had begun, but still not yet the 30 something hours.

A physicist might call it inflationary. It germinated for almost 25 years and then sprang forth in the final weeks. Two to be exact. A unity in adversity. Three uniting as one. It was their mother’s final wish. She worked on it sporadically for 25 years. I tried to infuse impetus in the final few months. Nothing. A little. Nothing, nothing, nothing, a touch, a tad, nothing. And then it was there, full blown. Two brothers and a sister: a team. They united for a future. They allowed their mother to go in peace. But, as she knew, they needed a fourth. She would be gone. They can’t have, don’t need, and certainly don’t want a foreign father, especially when they shakily share a French one. An uncle, wise in the practicalities of France, a necessity. The best fourth she could muster.

Of course they hurt. It was their mum, their mummy, their only mother for all their life – and a very special one at that. They couldn’t know how protected they were, because it still hurt. If you have never known real pain the first pang is an awesome thing. And she insisted they live their lives as normally as possible right up to very near the end. It was her last gift. Still she worried about their mettle. The youth of France lead a very, very sheltered life; through their teens, through their twenties, sometimes deep into their thirties. Cradle to grave is sometimes literal in France.

To be sure she was concerned about the modes and mores of current France. She and we, both of us, preferred straight talk and substance to the meandering locutions that signify almost nothing today. Talk is worth a tuppence over here, and overpriced at that. Still, we older folks always worry too much. Things usually tend to work out. Another 25 years and Bang! Presto!! Then they understand – a new generation takes over! And, finally, we get the respect we are due today.

Thrice now I have built a world. Once in the hell-hole of America that is Los Angeles. It was an inauspicious beginning, but it built the only thing that still endures. My primary family – it has splintered, but still strongly endures. I rebuilt my world once in the mountains of the Sierra Nevada. It was a very good milieu for me. When I left that universe I was sure my third incarnation would be my last. I knew, or thought I knew, I would be the one to die first. It didn’t happen. She did.

In the immediate aftermath, I envisaged just retiring upstairs, with occasional visits down and out. Mostly I could just wait amongst things familiar, two floors up from where I had known true happiness. I had hoped I could simply watch the starlings cavort in the cool of the evening over the Paris skyline. Gradually though, the language, culture and generation differences proved too much. I found that, without Minou, I did not fit. Without Minou I couldn’t fit in Paris, nor in France, nor in this family. She was the fulcrum that made those three circles possible.

Now her children must build three separate but intertwined spheres. She did everything she could to build the individual bases. She worked hard to unite them as a unit. Just towards the very end she saw real success, and she rested. She was, she is, and she will be proud of her children. Each time they hear an echo of her words and are guided by them she will be proud. Each time they act as a united whole, she will be pleased. More than that – every time they strike out bravely on their own she will be delighted. She loved life, she loved freedom and she loved individuality – all within the supporting matrix of a unit. That is all she wants for each of you.

Perhaps one last thread connects us all. The game still holds some promise and allows for the small possibility of fulfilling one of your mother’s and my last hopes. I believe that in the beginning she worked on the game for us - a joint project that could build her and I as a unit, and it even had some real potential. In Colorado she worked on the game to support me and my dreams. In Paris she began to work on the game again because she saw some family potential, but in the end I think she saw it mostly an avenue for Eve. I believe Albert and you boys owe it to your mother & Eve to leave room for that. Allow her, if she wishes, to seize the ball and run.

As for me, time will tell – for certain I am super glad that I went on the journey with your mom. Threads have a funny way of circling back and encompassing worlds. Maybe in the end we will all learn to honor and respect each other – despite the differences in language, culture and generation. Let’s drink a toast, French wine of course, to three new worlds, and a fourth.

It’s smaller now but it has become a badge of honor. It was angry and black, and almost all encompassing the first time I noticed it. I don’t know when I got it. One day, very near the end, it was just there. I saw it some days later. Perhaps ¾, maybe more, of the big toe nail. Black, pulsing, horrid! I remember one day, three or four days before the end, when she fell again. I had caught her a hundred times before, but this time just barely, and she bumped horribly. That is an ugly, ugly day when you are not strong enough to fully support the woman you love. To catch her, and hold her, and protect her as you are meant to do. To save her. Maybe it was that day. I don’t know. It is still there. 3 ½ months later, it’s smaller, maybe a third of the nail now. A badge of honor to trying. She tried so hard she deserved the world she left.

Could I paint a picture of her? No, the hues wouldn’t be bright enough. The foreground deep enough. The lines distinct with clarity of purpose, the shadows playful with a tinge of humor. No, I will take the photos. Rembrandt couldn’t do her justice, and I couldn’t do her at all. But the camera caught some of her facets exquisitely. Axel did it once. I was lucky once or twice. Karen the most consistent. Minou’s mirror reflections frequently worked. She often also did superbly with simple shadows. I may have a thousand, certainly hundreds I love – now they are my treasures, all that is left – except the memories they invoke. Thank you my Love for the thousand photos that launch me, and allow me to “slip the surly bonds of earth.”

Let’s flash back about six or seven hours, because that is the official beginning. That is when I left. Decamped, abandoned, fled from our apartment building. Minutes after the ambulance left, I left . It was somewhere between 9:00 and 10:00 AM; the ambulance was scheduled for 9:00. The hearse, for indeed it was a hearse, though it was called an ambulance, left from the 6th floor, I left from the 8th. No one saw me leave. No one yet knew I was gone. It was the beginning of the end.

For clarity I suppose we have to go back to the day before, actually the year before to even begin to comprehend the next 30 hours. I lived the lifetime and still don’t really understand it. In the previous year we had had many recurrent conversations. One of the most frequent started out: “If you ever leave me, I will die.” Literally I had heard those words, or some variation, 50 or 60 times, maybe more. I believed her. It was one very good reason for never leaving. Another was I loved her – deeply, deeply loved her.

In the early days there was raw panic in her voice. Just as I could feel the dread when she clutched my hand and held so tight whenever we ventured out, even just across the street. Gradually the terror subsided. The full realization that I was not going to abandon her seeped in. Now the voice was less insistent, somehow calmer. Still, late at night when we snuggled just before sleeping, when I always rocked her, she would occasionally repeat the phrase. “I will die if you ever leave.” By now I knew it was true. And yet I left. A half hour after she left, I left. Six or seven hours later I was shivering.

The preceding day was about as tough a day as I had ever known. For the past 30 plus years I had always said the day I lost my kids was the worst day of my life (lost them to their mother, not to death). This day was worse. It was building for six weeks, perhaps 6 months, even 16, but since the first of the year the truly ominous signs were multiplying virulently – almost like a cancer.