Sunday with Uncle Lemoine

Uncle Lemoine's cancer came back.

My dad is the oldest of four children: Him, Bonita, Lemoine, Neva. My dad visited for a week over the 1st weekend in April. Coincidentally, Lemoine went to the hospital for some pain related to his cancer that had recently returned. My dad spent time up at the University of Utah Hospital, as he should. They had a good time together and my dad was pretty excited one day when he found out 3 cousins and friends "from the farm" were going to be visiting Lemoine. They had a wonderful afternoon together. There's something golden about having been raised with cousins, aunts, and uncles on a large dairy farm and working, socializing and growing up together over so many years. So many good memories. I'm grateful they had that precious time together. Uncle Lemoine was sent home so I figured with the radiation treatments he'd be receiving he'd get better, just like he did the last time three years ago.

I was wrong.

My dad called me Wednesday night and said he'd be driving back. All I understood was that Lemoine wasn't doing so well and I offered that I'd go visit him the coming Sunday with Brook. I did that after lecturing him about buying a 2-hour plane ticket v. 14 hour drive (or more, cuz it's my dad), but, he insisted on driving. Dad said he'd arrive Sunday night or Monday morning, and when I called him Saturday morning to make sure he was on the road, he said that Bonita told him,"I'm not sure you'll make it in time." My mama bear mode switch went on. "What?! Dad! I didn't understand that his situation was this dire!" I thought Lemoine had more time. I'd last seen Lemoine at Britton's baptism just a few weeks ago and he was his normal, smiling, sparkly-eyed self just like he'd always been. This was happening way too fast! No way.

But cancer is a vengeful sleuth.

Brook and I and our families went to visit Lemoine Sunday. There was no sparking eyes and joking from the uncle who could tell stories and make friends like a fly at a barbecue. Much skinnier than I last remembered, he was struggling to breath, with heavy gasps, random moans and outbursts, and intermittent shaking hands lying on a hospital bed in a back bedroom. One of Aunt Barbara's thick, hand-made knitted blankets in a beautiful peach-colored chevron pattern covered his skinny, sick body as he slept. (My Ethan had slept under a similar green/white one she'd given me as a wedding gift years ago, and when I went to wake him this week I thought of her.) It's surreal how the mind works; mine was replaying times when I'd talk to Lemoine, he'd stand with his arms partially crossed and start a story with,"Ya know", or he'd laugh and start in on a story or related thought he had.

Memories are the most priceless, precious gifts. They really, really are.

As I looked around this room my heart filled. It's a small room add-on built on the back of the home with a wood stove standing on a brick foundation in the corner. Wood paneling covers the walls; so appropriate for farm-lovers! A picture he'd painted of his turquoise childhood home in a grove of trees with a red velvety frame - the same picture that was hung in Grandma Engla's home for years - hung by the outside door. An identical picture to one I have by Aunt Bonita of their family barn hung by the entryway to the kitchen hall. Ian had put together some music which was playing: Uncle Lemoine loves music. Ian had put together some 60's jams, and they said he was singing along to them, dancing with Barb the other day. Knicknacks covered the brick ledge of the stove and shelving in the room...I'm convinced there was a sentimental story behind each treasure and Lemoine could happily share details on each one.

But he won't tell those stories.

Instead, Barb tells us stories from the week of how she retired Lemoine on Wednesday, "I told him, well, I'm retiring you!" and all of the paperwork she's had to sign related to retirement, decisions she's had to make regarding finances, and medical responsibilities regarding his care. Explaining to some that, after Thursday, he could no longer sign anything. All of the gracious, kind people who have helped in just a few days; the kind lady at the credit union who drove paperwork to her home so she wouldn't have to leave. Barb believed, "There's a reason he asked Dale, 'Could you come Wednesday instead of Thursday?' for a visit. Because on Wednesday he was alert and talking and they had a great time. Thursday, he didn't get up and wouldn't have been able to see Dale. I think he knew." She also felt he knew earlier on that the cancer had returned, but that he didn't tell anyone, nodding, "Lemoine was good at keeping secrets."

This is not the retirement celebration anyone should have.

Instead of balloons and streamers, family, friends and neighbors are passing through this quiet room and standing at the bedside of a man who lived for adventure, spent a lifetime working with his hands, would hop trains for fun and, from what I gather, was quite mischievious as a child. I remember playing in a long train 'playhouse' as a child that he'd built and was set in my grandparents back yard when they lived in Holladay. He'd made a train track around his man cave and had always loved trains. He was ALWAYS chipper, smiling and had a talent for making his voice sound like one of the groucho brothers (if there are groucho brothers, that's just what came to mind). My cousins Ian and Isaac (Ike) took us up front to sit and talk awhile. They shared some great stories that I'll type later...I brought up the elephant in the room: I hate that families gather for weddings and when someone is sick (I couldn't get myself to say 'funeral'...I'm still hoping.)

Lemoine loved family gatherings...but no one joyously gathers when cancer is the host.

There was cake. A neighbor had brought over a cake about 15 minutes after our arrival, when we were all still in the back bedroom trying to process the 'why, what, how' questions in our minds and letting it sink in that cancer was winning this battle. It takes time. No one wants to cry...because that means reality has sunk in and all you can do is cry since there's nothing else you can do but pray for comfort. Barb and the boys were doing an expert job of keeping things on a positive note and 'real' - there was no pretending. Ian showed me a picture of Lemoine on Tuesday posed with Annie, THERE, staring at me from the screen was the Uncle Lemoine with a sparkle in his eye! Tuesday! I guess on Thursday morning he was washing his breakfast dishes...and today, Sunday, he can't wake himself up. Barb asked what kind of cake their talented neighbor had brought and when Ike said it was carrot, she insisted we could not pass on this ladies prized carrot cake! Ike dished us up. Brook ate 3 pieces. It was dang delicious!

There's a reason I share the otherwise-seemingly-silly-story of carrot cake. I share this story because a few years ago when I was talking to Lemoine, he got me so intrigued when he asked,"Do you want to know what my dream job is?" I'm like, what?! Of course I like hearing what people have wanted or want to do with their lives! His answer surprised me and I've always remembered...

"A waiter." I was dumbfounded,"A waiter?" He laughed and smiled in confirmation. He went on to say he'd always wanted to take people's orders and serve them their food. I remember how he talked with his hands in telling me this - like he was setting down a plate to a person! I think he looked forward to the variety of people he'd meet and get to serve. I was also thinking - and I'm sure I told him - that I'd been a server for awhile and it wasn't all that glorious, but the tips were good, you met a lot of people and it was a lot of hard work. Man, he ate that up like Christmas morning.

But, hard work is engineered in the Christensen bloodline. Hard-wired more like it.

I tried to get Ethan to play a song on the beautifully stained piano in the living room. It looks like tiger stripes. He refused. He's shy; sadly my kids haven't had opportunities to perform. Ian is an uber-talented musician and singer; Isaac a phenomenal artist (and musician!). We talked about the different talents of us cousins - there's a lot! Ian pointed to a painting on the wall he'd had commissioned by one of our dad's cousins. Talents! Although Ian's attempts at a soiree for the night didn't pan out Isaac entertained us with a beautiful song from an older movie The Fountain. He warned us...ironically, this movie is about a man who tries to save his wife dying of cancer. Listening to Ike play with so much emotion was reflective and brought to my heart a fountain of tears. Music shares emotions that words can't. The song, appropriately titled, is called Together We Will Live Forever.

Ian playing at Deseret Book, downtown SLC.

How grateful I am to know this is not just a song title. It's true!

I know without a doubt that there is life after our earthly life ends. I know I will see Jesse and other loved ones again, and I soooo look forward to that! I know that God loves us and wants us to return to live with him, forever. Some of the greatest gifts I'm grateful for that God gave me are family, agency, that I was born at this time and in America, and the gospel in my life. Family is the greatest vehicle to take us through this life. As we were talking, Isaac paused and said he felt the urge to share something with our kids and asked permission to share it. Of course, I'm all for positive life lessons for my kiddos, especially from others. He advised the kids to make good, responsible choices - specifically to not drinking alcohol - and negative effects that can occur because of bad choices. He spoke sincerely from the heart. I'm so grateful. Then, like Lemoine, he simply said, "Kids, let's go outside." He told the kids they looked bored. Ha! Well, they didn't look too bored watching Ike walk on stilts and them jumping on pogo sticks. Lemoine was always out for fun. Barb pointed out her massive toy bin of plastic dinosaurs which made Damon look like he was at the candy store. (Heaven!) Ian brought out a card game UnHappy Birthday for us to play. We talked. We laughed. We shared stories. We stated out loud how we couldn't believe this was happening, and happening so fast. Elephants in the room have big butts.

All while Uncle Lemoine say sleeping in a back bedroom.
All while cancer quietly digs away at his body, but not his spirit. Never his spirit! You can't have that, cancer!

All of this going on...while my sweet cousin Annie lay sleeping upstairs in her bedroom. I'll share that part of the evening here. It's a good, raw part of the night...

I went to see Lemoine before we all left.
I hate goodbyes.
Saying, "See you soon," seems easier. It's more truthful, not so finite. Those precious three words were the last that Jesse spoke to me face-to-face as we hugged and I reluctantly left Brett's home for the airport. That moment is forever in my heart. Forever. Ever. Ever.

I stroked Uncle Lemoine's greyish, limp arm and just felt of his spirit in the quiet. He has lived an eventful yet simple life, on his terms. He never seemed to care what other people thought; he did HIS thing. Isn't that how we should live? He's worked a hard, honest life. He's loved a lot in this life, as much as pains. I've always seen him smiling. He saw life's ups and downs. He was devoted to the Gospel and serving the Lord. No one is perfect, but I believe he woke up each morning striving to do his best. So, I told Uncle Lemoine I'd see him soon, kissed him twice, took a mental picture in my head and joined the family up front. I don't want his illness to be my lasting memory of Uncle Lemoine, nope, I want to remember him for the vibrant man he was, who always had a warm greeting and gracious hello, and the life he lived.

It was a genuine day.

As I was finishing typing this in my bed, about 1:15 AM on Wednesday morning, April 20, I heard some quiet noise downstairs. I went down to check it out, heard a car start, and peeked out the front blinds to watch my dad drive away. I had a feeling Lemoine had passed...I had originally just typed the following closing sentence but erased it at about the time he journeyed Home: I can picture Lemoine sitting atop a moving railcar, the wind blowing through his hair, and serene Montana buttes off in the distance. He's smiling. He's pain-free. He's anticipating something great behind those sparkly eyes...