| The year 2000 was a horrible year for the Leffingwell family. My grandfather unexpectedly passed away in February 2000 of an aortal anyeurism. His father, my great-grandfather, passed away several weeks later before his 99th birthday. A few months later, my grandmother (same side of the family) who had buried her husband and father-in-law earlier in the year, was diagnosed with MM.
She began her chemo and radiation treatment during the late summer of 2000. She experienced much of the same things as anyone else who's had to endure chemo and radiation: hair loss, nausea, weakened immune system, etc.
By early 2001, she had begun to turn the corner. By mid 2001, she had gone into a quasi-remission state, and by late 2001, she was in full remission. She was doing much of the same things she used to do before 2000. Best of all, she reinforced her faith in God.
True, many people who are terminal get really religious after they find out. But she refused to see MM as terminal. After all, as you well know, many people are able to live with the illness for years and years. But she allowed MM to focus her on the things that are important in life: friends, family, laughter, joy, and a relationship with God. She was bubbly with this newfound knowledge, but truth be told, she was always a bubbly person anyway!
In early summer of this year (2003), things began to turn south. She felt more faint than she used to. She had some delusions and outbursts that were uncharacteristic of her. The doctor discovered her calcium levels had elevated, and more tests were needed to see if MM had returned. It had, and with a vengeance. The doctors were highly doubtful that in her newly weakened state, she could endure any more chemo or radiation. They sent her home with hospice facilities, and on August 7, my beautiful and beloved grandmother Bonnie Leffingwell peacefully left this planet from her own house in the hills of Ohio to be with God.
I did not see the downward spiral, due to our distance: she lived in southeastern Ohio, and I live in north Florida. Based on what her children (especially my dad) told me, I'm glad I didn't see it. I would not have recognized the woman with whom my life was blessed for 32 years. I remember how she lived, not how she died.
And I guess my overall point is that: remember one's life, not their death. Granted, I grieve often over not having her physical presence in my life. I'm selfish that way, because I know that she's in a place where there is no pain, only indescribable joy. But the reason I weep is because I take pleasure in remembering how she affected my life in the most beautiful of ways, and I selfishly wanted more of that. We all want more of that from our loved ones who are diagnosed with this horrible affliction.
Through her living and her passing, I view life much differently than I used to view it. I try to absorb my children growing up, seeing deer and wild turkeys on the side of the road in the woods, smelling a neighborhood of fireplaces burning on a cold winter day, the wind blowing the leaves off of the tree, my dogs chasing a squirrel, watching football with my dad...everything. I thank her for that. In this hectic world we all live in, it sure would be nice to slow down every once in a while to witness all we have going on around us. We only get one crack at this life thing...it's not a dress rehearsal.
God bless the victims and their families of MM. Celebrate their life, while they're here and after they're gone. No one ever dies if we never forget them.
Jonathan Leffingwell,
Jacksonville, FL
Proud grandson of MM victim Bonnie Leffingwell. |
