death – Fscottwrites

What is Your Lifesaver?

Today is the first day in weeks that I don’t have anything on my calendar. It’s been good, it’s been busy and full of ups and downs.

On top of dog/house sitting, I took on a dog walking gig for a couple of weeks (and it was icy as hell every day on that dog walk), several days of babysitting my three-year-old friend, cleaning my friend’s Airbnbs while she travels in Italy, and my regular Wednesday elder care job. Amid it all, friends gathered to celebrate a birthday, and I stressed over making a regular and vegan pumpkin pie. Oh yeah, and flu-like symptoms for a couple of days.

Also, I printed out a draft of my manuscript, which I continue to edit and revise. I’ve sent queries to agents while researching small presses. I’ve pitched essay ideas to publications. I’m taking part in Brooke Warner and Grant Faulkner’s JanYourStory, committing to writing 500 words per day.

In the middle of it, Angelica called, asking me to come say goodbye to her mama, whose death was imminent. Her mama, Paula Jean, and I became friends through a group of Southerners in Missoula who meet up to speak with a drawl and eat Southern food. She, myself and two other women call ourselves the Hellgate Junior League (Hellgate Canyon sits on the east side of Missoula). A year ago, Paula moved into the historic hotel where I live. As her breast cancer advanced, she moved to her daughter’s home.

While Paula slept, we watched over. Angelica spoke softly, “She is my best friend. It was just the two of us for so long.” I held back the tears, hugged her and offered to wash dishes. Over the past nine months, I have been honored to witness three different women dying while their daughters cared for them. This time, it hit me. It is likely my daughter will not be there as I lie dying. I’m not feeling sorry for myself, only acknowledging and grieving a reality.

After nine years of no contact with my only child, I’ve learned a few things: acceptance helps, while acknowledging feelings, being with them, but not wallowing in them. Therapy has been a lifesaver, and so has writing. Writing has given insight into the big picture, what part is mine to own up to, what part others have played, and how family dynamics contributed to our rift, and finally, forgiving myself.

What in your life has been a lifesaver, something that sustains you when life is challenging?

Be gentle with yourself and thanks for reading.

The Best Death

It was an honor to write and have this essay published about my friend, Susan, who chose death with dignity and died in May 2025. She had terminal lung cancer and was with us for a year after diagnosis. Her year was full of good times and connections with family and friends: dinners, an in-house concert for her birthday, a weekend at the lake, and hanging out in her yard. During the year, she had a sold-out art show at a local gallery. She continued to make art up to the day she died.

One day while visiting with her, I said, “I want to write an essay titled, My Friend is Dying and I’m Jealous. She giggled and said, “Go for it.” I pitched the essay to Noah Michelson, editor at Huffington Post, whom I’ve worked with before.

He liked the pitch,
“Hi Frances! Always love seeing your name in my inbox, though this time it also comes with grief.

I’m so sorry to hear about Susan but so happy that she’s dying on her own terms.

I think this piece will be infinitely stronger if you write it after she dies. I want to know about how the end was for her — and you. Does it go as she planned / is planning? I’ll want to know how you feel now that she’s gone. I want to know what it’s like to still be here. I want to know if your thoughts on death — especially your own — have changed.

Are you up for writing more and coming back to me whenever you’re ready?”

His email brought me to tears. “I want to know how your feel now that she is gone.” Susan will die. We’d had such fun over the year, I kept that reality at bay. But at the same time, I appreciated Noah’s suggestion.

Susan walked me to my car the night she would die. She made a point of asking me to look after her children and grandchildren. After we chatted and hugged, she crossed the street, yelling back to me, “Publish that essay.” “I will and I will send it to you!” Her laughter remains with me.

I later learned from her son that Susan told him she wanted me to be the one to look after them. Wow. Her children and grandchildren have become family, a gift that will keep Susan alive in my heart and theirs.

Here’s the link to the essay: My Friend Told Me She Was Dying. I Told Her I Was Jealous

Thanks as always for reading.

Frances

The Science of Coincidence by Susan Carlson

Susan’s art piece in progress when she died

Memories Keep Us in Relationship

Seven weeks ago I wrote about Sophie, the 88 year old woman I cared for and my friend Susan with terminal cancer. Alive then, today they live on in sweet memories.

Sophie, mother of three talented daughters, was a pillar of her community, president of the symphony, choir director, supporter of the arts, and the backbone of the Greek Orthodox Annunciation Church choir, congregation, and food festivals. According to her obituary,

“Her baklava, many would agree, was unrivaled. Among Sophie’s many passions, food probably topped the list. She was an artist in the kitchen. Every meal was prepared with care and consideration. When someone was sick or sad, she showed up with homemade muffins or soup. She threw elegant parties of all sizes and varieties — who didn’t look forward to a Sophie dinner? — that were feasts for the eyes, nose, palate, and belly. She wasn’t showy about it: she simply loved to gather friends and family around a beautifully set table for good conversation, fellowship, and cheer. And she knew that artistically prepared and presented food helped create the magic.”

The neuropathy Sophie suffered from created great pain; she wasn’t able to walk, and one arm was completely immobile. She could stand and scoot her legs some, while I helped her from the chair to the wheelchair and into the restroom. This had become harder and harder, sometimes falling before making it onto the toilet. She’d say, “I’m OK. Are you OK?” Then apologize!

She died peacefully, surrounded by her girls June 18th.

It’s amazing how much you can come to love someone, even when you know them for a short time. I looked forward to Saturdays and Sundays with her and our conversations about the state of our country, books, movies, food, recipes, and a little gossip. Sophie had a team of twelve caregivers. She made each one of us feel appreciated, and we all felt she was a friend. Yesterday at her Greek service, the family reserved a row for Sophie’s Magnificent Team, as we were referred to. Afterwards, a lunch reception was held, feeding those who loved Sophie. Tables were covered in tablecloths she had made throughout the years, and baklava and brownies made by her daughters using Sophie’s recipe were served.

When I became part of her caregiving team, I was impressed by her high-functioning family. Each of her three girls working together to make sure Sophie’s needs were being met. A few weeks ago, her daughters invited the caregiving team for music they performed and dessert. We were sent home with chocolate bars wrapped in a custom-printed label, “Sophie’s Magnificent Team”.

My heart is full of love and awe for Sophie and the family she created. Yes, I wish I could have been the mother she was, and I wish my family had stuck together. But being a witness to Sophie, the grace she possessed, and her family warms my heart, and I feel lucky.

My friend, Susan, died with medical assistance, surrounded by family, on May 28th. There is much to say about her life and death. My essay about her will be published by the Huffington Post in 3-4 months. I’ll share it once it comes out.

It’s true even when someone is gone, there is still a relationship with them. Susan, Sophie, and others I have loved and lost are resurrected with each memory of them.