Has she faded from our view?
Memories, photos, recordings are all such poor substitutes for the real thing.
We all remember the slices of life we had with Patti but have now receded in diminishing time, gone way beyond our shared laughter.
Do you remember the sound of Patti's voice?
Images and experiences stick somewhat but it's the sound of another's voice that vanishes so damn quickly. Sometimes I have to view an old video or two just to remind my mind of her once-upon-a-time physical reality.
It's not the photographic images of another that stab down into the depths but rather the sounds that touch the heart where real things and people live.
Time resumes. Life moves on.
People fade in memory though I believe all the experiences remains underneath forever being cloaked in new experiences like falling snow piling upon one another, layer after layer after layer of new experiences ..and never melting off.
Still, the realness of what once was and of our relationships are all still there, grounded and deep underground. Affecting us in so many subtle ways.
Two years gone. 24 little months. A mere 730 days. It's as nothing in Time.
A mere blink in Time as our own laughter with the living returns.
This human experience is at times and in between all the other feelings, remarkably intriguing.
She is missed.
On this the 2nd anniversary of her departure I would wish that for a few seconds after reading all this, each of you , and in your own special way, send to her your good thoughts.
This was her request that I found hidden on her computer after she was gone:
"Please try to explain to all who love me and us that I hope they will send kind thoughts our way and prayers for my progression to a better place."
For all the love and the laughter that she provided for us we can easily wish her that. We would want to wish her that.
Patti did have another request. As the cancer in her body grew, chewing and altering the life from her, I watched over her as this request became progressively more important to her... listening to her and Karla talk about it.
She wanted her long-time good friend Karla to write a book about her many years of staring into the dark Abyss of Death, of her 21 year long fight and depression, of the relentless grinding down and finally her eventual capitulation to all of it where it became time for her to just Let Go.
In this world Patti was always for helping others and she felt that having her story told could be of help to other women who had been hit by the cancer death sentence.
Karla has for the last two years been engaged in this request and emotion-filled project. The book is approaching it's first completed write (as opposed to re-write) and at this point in it's evolution requires serious professional editing. Neither Karla nor myself are worth the proverbial hill-of-beans when it comes to slashing and burning our own words and passages previously sweated over.
With Luck prevailing (and some objective editing) the book will soon enter into the finalization arena.
The following is from the book's intro:
This is Patricia’s story. This is Patricia’s legacy; as expressive as her art, as soulful as her life. This is a book which she again and again asked me to write.
Perhaps Patricia’s story is distinctive because it is hers; or because each of us may find a bit of us within her dreams and fears. Perhaps we can understand her because of her everlasting desire to make a positive impact in the lives of others. Or maybe her legacy will remain blessed because of the sacred friendship between two friends which was founded within and grew upon a deep spiritual belief and connection - recorded in these pages for all to witness.
Patricia’s gift as an artist (painting her primary medium, then mosaics) provided extensive outlets through which she would express her inner joys and attempt to exorcise the demons which crept not only into her dreams, but her daily life. From childhood to the end of her life on earth, Patricia was engulfed with often overwhelming waves of self-doubt. Yet as a sister, daughter, wife, friend, and member of a supportive extended family, her light would always shine and help to show so many of us the way to unconditional love.
Patricia Helsing was diagnosed with breast cancer in August of 1986 – ironically nearly to the exact day when I moved to Washington, DC from New Haven, Connecticut to begin a new job at the city’s ABC television affiliate. Yet we would not become friends until – perhaps 1992 or 1993 after she joined a small metaphysical church which I attended. Although I eventually moved to Seattle in 1995, Patricia and I remained very close friends.
From that unforgettable day in August of 1986 and each one that followed throughout the next 21 years, Patricia would, round after round after round, struggle to eliminate, suspend, or come to peace with the tormentor which had infiltrated her body. Patricia won many fights, but each left her a bit worse for the wear. In the end, like so many brave people who have also engaged in this fierce war called cancer, Patricia succumbed to the tattered remains of her ravaged body.
Within these pages lie the intimate, sad, tender, sometimes irreverent, and often tedious daily exchange of our thoughts, questions, and love for one another. While I was still living in the Washington, DC area, Patricia and I had many conversations about life, death, suicide, and her wishes if she were to ever enter hospice. By the time we began our daily e-mail exchange in August of 2007, I knew that she would not seek any further medical treatment to purge the cancer from her body and that perhaps, just maybe, she would take her death into her own hands.
Paramount to all of her requests (even before they became intimate or married) was Patricia’s desire to have her dear friend Bill by her side when she died. By the grace of God, Bill and Patricia spent the last few years of her life together; whether they were in Iowa cleaning out mouse dung from the bureau drawers of their farmhouse, lazily enjoying the company of their dear friends Barbara and Bob during the warm days of late summer in the Adirondacks, or simply lying in their bed together—swaddled in their love during their short, last hours together, she did receive her wish for Bill’s physical, emotional, and spiritual comfort as she died. Although Bill was her primary caregiver and love-giver we all paid homage to her needs by surrounding her, the best we could, with love.
Throughout our e-mail dialogue, both Patricia and I discuss and sometimes question—our faith. I ask that you be tolerant of our discussions, and read and feel the love between two friends rather than focus upon the “right or wrong” of a specific religious dogma. In the end, it’s love which overshadows all.
Regardless of what you believe are the similarities or differences of what is or is not beyond your physical life on earth, our hope is that you or someone you love might more easily understand how important it is to talk with and listen to, the desires, needs, and quiet company of someone who is dying. With vast resources on “how to” grieve as well as scientific details about the process of a specific disease which is consuming your loved one, Patricia felt it important to address the theme about “what to say” to someone who faces imminent death. Why me? Because Patricia asked me to write this for you.
I am not an expert on death and dying; I am not a physician, hospice nurse, or professional caregiver of any kind. This book was not written with any intention of it being an instructional manual about the ABCs or “Do’s and Don’ts” when communicating with the person you love—or in some cases, the person you know but perhaps not really well. I am not sure this book actually addresses what to say, because each individual and every situation is uniquely special.
It simply documents the last thoughts, questions, emotions, and days of a woman who is dying. Both Patricia and I hope that from it—from our raw, honest conversations—you might find a way to talk with the dying person who needs you. Too often we opt to not say anything—or not visit or communicate with our friend or family member who is dying—rather than say something which might offend. And while each and every soul is uniquely different, saying that you care and that you love is always the right thing to do.I miss Patricia immensely. But if through this book, just one person is comforted, we both know that our work has been divinely inspired and that our lives—this time around—were worthwhile.
God speed.
This story begins with Patricia’s private journal - 3 days after she was diagnosed with breast cancer. No one ever read these diaries but I believe she wrote them not only as a cathartic exercise for herself, but knowing – somewhere deep within her soul – that her words might someday help…you.
Part 2
By Patricia Helsing
Friday, August 8, 1986 approximately 11am
TO:
This book is for the person I love. He knows who he is.
August 11, 1986
Dear Nooper,
It’s now the third day since Part 2 of my life began. Part 1 ended abruptly 3 days ago, on a black Friday morning at Sibley Hospital in the outpatient surgery room.
My guess is that most people in my situation would consider that a major chapter, at least, had ended the moment they’re told they have a potentially fatal disease. But, fortunately, the majority of people don’t hear this news until they’re relatively advanced in years.
I am right smack in the middle – 41 – so it seems right that I might consider this an appropriate time to call an end to Part 1 and begin a second and final part. It is also likely that while I’m in the middle of my statistically promised life span, my Part 2 will be considerably shorter than Part 1.
But I have given Part 2 a theme, and that is to make it qualitatively superior to what came before. “Quality Time” is term in vogue now.
Ok, so what was so terrible about Part 1, anyhow?
Well, it was far from terrible. In fact, a lot of it was wonderful. Let’s say it had its high periods and if you strung them end to end they’d probably take up about 2/3rd of my 41 years. And if you added in the not so high but not so bad years, it would come to about ¾. That leaves about 10 years of low-moderate-extreme unhappiness, mighty dispersed.
So, really, what was so terrible about Part 1 that made me destroy my only written record of it last Friday? My journal, recorded in a book just like this one, covered 14 years starting in 1974, about ½ my adult life…ripped into shreds and dumped from the ninth floor down the trash chute to the basement at 4600 Connecticut Avenue, NW.
Why did I kill all those words – tens of thousands of them? I did it because they were a disease – not individually, but together as a whole – in that book they were a disease. Like alcoholism, they were an addiction. Like cancer, they spread with time blackening page after page after page…
Those words, even when they were about love, which was often, were a vomiting of mental illness. And while keeping the journal was meant originally to alleviate the pain, it never worked. In fact, it seemed to do just the opposite; to magnify and reinforce it. There was no catharsis in writing. It was like a quick fix to the heroin addict; always with the guarantee that I’d be back for more and back sooner. And, in fact, the entries did increase in frequency over the years. In the beginning there were some times years between entries. Toward the end it was down to weeks between major episodes of fear and despair.
That book of black thoughts, terrifying fears, unbridled negativism didn’t cause me to develop breast cancer. The book didn’t. I know that to be true. There are many scientific studies showing how emotions can cause serious physical illness, but even without them I’d know the truth of it. There are certain things one knows...........
(to be continued in the book ~bill)
All helpful suggestions are welcome.
This is a huge project taken on by Karla (and Patti) and one that is too raw and painful for me to be much a part of. I'm too close to it all, even after these 730 days.
If you have any ideas of where and how to go from here with Patti's request please email Karla at kaerae[at]comcast.net
