Il y a longtemps à Paris

Karla (1943-2023), my dear sister-in-law, died a few days ago after an arduous journey across dementia-land. We were born 21 days apart. She lived her last months in care, experiencing the world through infant’s eyes. During my visits this June/July she seemed amused when I came to spoon-feed her ‘texture-modified’ lunch. Weighing a fraction of her former elegance, she’d cause us to break into giggle fits for no apparent reason. She spoke little more than word fragments; not sure whether she understood anything I said. Whenever I got ready to leave, she’d pucker her lips for a full-on kiss.

On my way home I often wondered what, if anything, she made of our time together.

Former hospice counsellor Eve Joseph recalls an exchange between a doctor and a family whose mother was in a coma. “Can she hear us?” they asked. “Yes,” he replied. “She hears you the way a newborn hears the voice of its mother’s voice.” ^[1]

Over time dementia destroys the connections between brain cells. Eventually these cells die.^[2]

I’m grateful for Karla’s boundless kindness and calming influence when two brothers quarreled. Typical of our cohort, she grew up in post-WW2 chaos, fled, as a teenager, with her widowed mother across the East German border, and married our older brother when both were barely twenty. Gerhard, her husband of 60 years, now lives alone in their shared care home — his brain steadily dissolving.

As of today, he still recognizes our doctor-brother’s family but seems to forget things moments after they occurred. (Talk about being in the moment.) Just a week ago, before Karla’s last of several seizures, they sat holding hands during the weekly sing-and-dance-along. When told of her death a few days later, Gerdie showed no outward signs of comprehension . . . and shifted his attention to the cheesecake before him.

♥

My coming, my going — / Two simple happenings. / That got entangled.  ~ Kozan Ichikyo, Japanese Zen master, 1283-1360 ^[3]

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[1] (2014/2023). In the slender margin: The intimate strangeness of death and dying, 59.  [2] myhealth.alberta.ca/Health/pages/conditions.aspx?hwid=tp12408; retrieved 29 Sep 2023.  [3] Hoffmann, Yoel. (1998). Japanese death poems: Written by Zen monks and haiku poets on the verge of death, 108.