Tag: Love

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

Faith in Fiction 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.

Everybody was tired, everybody needs money and you gotta laugh

The weather was nice Saturday, but the heat felt sudden and the haze of controlled burns loomed overhead. It was the first farmers’ market of the season in downtown Missoula and the annual Brewfest. I live right in the middle of it. People were out in hordes. I could not turn left onto the street that would take me to my dog walking client. I could feel my blood boil and wished I were rich enough to have a house out in a quiet area, preferably with a creek running outside my door.

I did squeeze into the right lane and took a long route to my little dog friend. Toffee is a chihuahua mix. I like him, not a yipper. He was not his usual chipper self, running out ahead of me on the leash. At a snail’s pace we walked, he took care of his business and that was that. I let his owner know he may not be feeling good.

The 85-year-old woman I have been caring for two hours a day on Saturdays and Sundays lives just blocks from Toffee. (I love it when life gives us those little conveniences) It’s only been four months since I’ve been caring for her but I feel we have known each other a long time. I have grown to love her. She sits in her recliner in the den with an open kitchen and dining area. She has a direct view of the front door and all that goes on. I come in, take off my shoes, and she shoots out, “Hello Frances, come tell me about your week.” I sit on the couch, excitedly saying, “I got to see a rehearsal performance of Cinderella this week.” Just a few weekends ago, we talked about Rodgers and Hammerstein’s Cinderella with Leslie Ann Warren as Cinderella. We sang, In My Own Little Corner while I prepared our avocado toast.

This day, she says a quiet hello. Sitting on the couch next to her chair, I notice she looks particularly tired. She asks me to read aloud from All Creatures Great and Small so she can close her eyes and listen. She only wants half a piece of avocado toast. As usual, we discuss whatever sad events our administration has brought upon this country. Now we are both tired and sad.

From her house, I go to the library for Montana Repertory Theater’s First Reads, a staged reading series of plays the theater is considering for production. A friend of mine is reading. The play is Eelout by Paul W. Kruse. The three main male characters are in an ice house celebrating a stag party. I enjoyed it and had some good laughs. Michael Legg, the artistic director, thanked us all for coming and shared some disconcerting news that the Rep has lost some of its funding. All the grief I’ve been feeling hit me in this moment. Needing to cry, I left as soon as Michael shared this news.

Back at the hotel where I live, Jen, a dear housemate, was leaving as I was coming in. When she hugged me, I let out a deep cry, “Everything is so fucked up.” As a government employee, she was hired for a remote job working from home. The government is now requiring her to work in an office and, she lives in fear of losing her job entirely. All this after she was finally able to buy a fixer-upper house.

Since I was meeting friends at the Wilma to see the comedian, Tiffany Haddish, I tried to nap to no avail. My friend, Susan, is a fan of comedians, so we treated her to Tiffany’s show. Susan has terminal cancer, and every opportunity to enjoy her, I take. Tucked back in the nose bleed section of the theater, laughing, Susan grabbed my hand, promising to look up turtles having sex, when Tiffany shared this as one of the sites she goes to take her mind off the troubles of the world. Tiffany’s rendition of the turtle noises had us crying with laughter.

It was good to laugh at the end of the day because sometimes, damnit, that’s all we can do.

But please do what you can; write your representatives, call them, donate to the arts, to PBS and NPR, and boycott unethical businesses.

Save Public Media

Boycott List

Thanks for reading, take care of yourselves and each other.

Frances

PS, if you want to check out turtles having sex, here you go: Turtles having sex. And imagine Tiffany Haddish on stage imitating them!

Memoir Friends

A good editor is worth its weight in gold. I think I have found gold. She read and edited the first thirteen chapters I’ve written.

Her email began: “First I have to say that I’m so sorry you went through all of this—and I’m grateful you’re sharing such a vulnerable (on many levels) manuscript with me. I truly believe that the best memoirs tell the hardest truths—and as a result, affect lives. I think your book will do this.”

There is much work to do from suggestions she made throughout the manuscript and writing the last few chapters. I write and revise a little bit each day, in between reading other memoirs and enjoying Montana’s summer where I want to be on the river everyday.

One reason I joined Twitter a few years ago was because of its writing community. Several women writers found each other there and now support each other through our own social media group. Though many of us have never met in real life, because of the vulnerability we have shared with one another, we have grown to love each other.

Some of us have published memoirs. Others are in the process of writing one.
Recently, I read two memoirs from our group. Both are difficult subjects, well written with much to glean from.

Melissa M. Monroe’s Mom’s Search for Meaning: Grief and Growth after Child Loss shares her grief process after losing her two year old daughter, Alice, from Sudden Unexplained Death in Childhood (SUDC). It’s an unimaginable loss with so many unanswered questions. I was touched throughout Melissa’s memoir. What she has written is a beautiful tribute to Alice and helpful for anyone going through grief or supporting someone who is grieving.

Love in the Archives, a Patchwork of True Stories about suicide loss by Eileen Vorbach Collins. Throughout the stories the reader gets to know her daughter, Lydia, how Lydia saw the world, the love that Eileen still carries for her and the places Eileen found some comfort after losing Lydia. Helpful for others who have experienced suicide loss, grief or supporting someone in the midst of grief.

More memoirs from our group are either on my bookshelf or will be soon. Click the links below to learn more.

Goodbye Again by Candace Cahill

Growth, a Mother, her son and the Brain Tumor They Survived by Karen DeBonis

Tap Dancing on Everest, a Young Doctor’s Unlikely Adventure

Broken People by Rachel Thompson

Midlife Cancer Crisis by Maureen C. Berry

I Can’t Remember if I Cried Rock Widows on Life, Love, and Legacy by Lori Tucker-Sullivan


Forthcoming books:

Rebecca Morrison’s memoir- 2026

Heather Sweeney

Casey Mulligan Walsh – THE FULL CATASTROPHE: All I Ever Wanted, Everything I Feared forthcoming from Motina Books in February 2025!

Anne Rollins – Famished

Jacque Gorelick – Map of a Heart: A Memoir of Love, Loss, and Finding the Way Home (Vine Leaves Press 2026)

Jocelyn Jane Cox – Motion Dazzle: A Memoir of Motherhood, Loss, and … Skating on Thin Ice

Happy reading and thanks for reading!

Love Begets Love

Love begets love.

A couple of days ago, an email from the New York Times appeared with “Your Tiny Love Story!” in the subject line. After submitting three or four times over the last couple of years, with no reply, I got a yes. It’s not easy to capture the love story you want to capture in 100 words.
The editor asked that I get permission from my college sweetheart’s wife, since she is mentioned. His wife, Kim, and I are friends on social media. I took a deep breath, messaged her with a copy of the TLS. Within five minutes, she replied, “Absolutely, what a beautiful love story, Gosh how I miss that man.”
Kim’s generosity was one of the things I wanted to come across in the TLS. The editor saw that. Once again, I am moved by Kim’s open heart.
My heart is full, maybe bigger today. The love for my sweetheart is as strong as it was 40 years ago. Truly, he was the love of my life, one of the healthiest, fun-loving, respectful relationships I’ve had. The demise of our relationship happened after an unfortunate occurrence. That’s another story.
Once he met Kim and married her, all my friends told me how much they like Kim and that I would too. They were right.
I couldn’t be happier that he married a woman as lovely as his wife. I know he was the love of her life too. He was one of a kind. And there is plenty of love to go around.
The Tiny Love Story should be out next week. In March, Huffington Post is publishing another essay of mine. Woohoo. I’ll send links when they come out.

Thanks for reading and keep your heart open.

Me and Tayloe
I still have the watch I’m wearing.
It was a gift from him.

Remembering Brenda, aka Black Kitty

Brenda is how she was introduced to me three years ago when I moved into the hotel. Black Cat, Black Kitty, Rosa and I’m sure there were other names she had over the nineteen and a half years she lived. I’ve been calling her Monkey. She wondered into the hotel during a Valentine party back in 2005. Bob, a long time resident here took her in and she never left. He guesses she was around six months old at the time.
I wasn’t pet sitting when I moved in. It was Covid times. Brenda and I quickly bonded. She spent days in my room, wondering out for her meals and back in to sleep at the end of the bed at night. Bob lives on the 2nd floor, I live on the 3rd. Brenda still went down to spend time with him. He fed her and kept the litter box down there.

Once I starting pet sitting again, I missed her but knew our community was taking care of her. It sure was a sweet greeting coming home each time, having her pitter pattering behind me, prancing into my room as the door swung open. She’d stare wide eyed at me until I presented her a treat. She had me wrapped around her paw.

A year or so ago, someone moved in on the 2nd floor. She brought along her kitty. Brenda was not happy about it nor were most of us tenants. That’s when Brenda moved herself upstairs staying on the couch in the community room when I wasn’t home. We accommodated her with a new spot for her litter box and meals served to her on the 3rd floor.

Brenda comforted me after knee surgery and again through anal cancer treatment. Her usual spot was at the end of the bed never next to me, occasionally submitting to my kisses and hugs. I was touched and sure she contributed to my healing when she’d rest again my bum.

A week after my return from a three week trip Brenda wasn’t pitter pattering behind me when I came home. Another housemate noticed she was constipated. Fortunately, I had a few days off from pet sitting. After a visit to Sentinel Emergency Vet this past Thursday blood test showed her kidneys were failing, diabetes and anemia. Just days before I had seen a friend’s post about a woman who provides in-home euthanasia, Dr, Janet Alviar, with Twilight Paws. After a call to her and house mates Janet made arrangements to come the next day. The experience was tender, respectful and the best one would hope for. Monkey was able to be surrounded by several who loved her in the home she had known all her 19 1/2 years.

I held it together through it all until yesterday morning, the day after her death. Waking I reached to pet her and heard a meow. My morning tears left me rung out for the rest of the day. Last night I had the comfort of the sweetest dog I’m pet sitting. He slept on my lap, then next to me for the remainder of the night as I dreamt and woke to sweet memories with Monkey.

Koda providing comfort

It Was a Good Trip, Back in the Hotel

After a three week trip to Oregon which was filled with fun, friends, laughing, crying, blackberry picking, blueberry picking, floating the river, floating in a bird sanctuary at sunset and good food I’m back to life at the hotel. I love my friends in Oregon so much. It was such a gift to have my health and energy that hasn’t been there for years so we could play.
I was ready to get back to the hotel where I live and check on Robert, the 84 year old owner, and the eighteen year old black kitty. Both of them are unique and getting old. Brenda, the kitty, has never had vaccines or check ups. Robert doesn’t go to the doctor unless it’s an emergency. He did get the Covid vaccines. Both of them are loners but sometimes like the company of others.
It was late afternoon when I climbed the stairs to my third floor room. Brenda, aka Black Kitty or Monkey, followed behind me into my room for the treat she knew was waiting for her. Once I kissed her on the nose, I headed to the second floor room just below mine. The news was blaring so I knew Robert was home. “Who’s there?” he hollered after my knock. I peeked in saying, “Frances”. He smiled, “Boy, am I glad to see you. I missed you, not only technically but emotionally.”
After our catch up conversation, I let him know I could do his laundry and I would make his favorite oatmeal in the morning. He grinned like a kid on the way to get ice cream. I’m guessing those are the “technical” reasons he missed me.
Last summer some dear friends came through town. On my visit to Oregon, Terry, shared the photos he had taken of the hotel. He captured the essence of the hotel that’s hard to describe until you see it, maybe something out of another time and place.


I Love That I Ran Into You

( A Snippet on Running Into an Old Flame)

I love that I ran into you, that you have moved back to town. 
I love our weekly outings: coffee dates, a stroll in the woods, dinner and/or a movie, our conversations. 

I love that you looked me in the eye and apologized for your past dishonesty and I accepted and told you we wouldn’t be sitting together if I didn’t believe you were sincere. 

I love that you brought dinner and presents over on Christmas eve.
I love our capacity to have fun together, to have meaningful conversations. 

I love our shared past, the magical walks during movie perfect snowfall, our travels, slow mornings, and the time in between before it was time to cook dinner together.

I love that I have come to love my autonomy in the six years since I was with you, that I am not interested in romance or partnership.
I love that I love you and you love me.
I love our companionship.