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.

04/08/2008 / July 19, 2008 / The Good Fight? / Minou / Mixed / AFW, 733, © 2008 / CIP / SHE

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!

04/08/2008 / July 18, 2008 / The Next Six Months / Minou / Mixed / AFW, 732, © 2008 / CIP / SHE

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

04/08/2008 / July 2008 / 700 – A Fitting End … Independence / Place / Best / CIP, 700, © 2008 / EUS

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.

04/08/2008 / July 27, 2008 / Journey Home / Minou / Mixed / AFW, 735, © 2008 / CIP / SHE

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.

04/08/2008 / February 22, 2008 / Thirty Something Hours (3) / Minou / Mixed / AFW, 734, © 2008 / CIP / SHE