In Which We Carry Denny Home

I have some very sad family news to share. Last Wednesday, my sister Marilyn's husband Denny passed away in his sleep. He had been battling some serious health issues, including major organ failure, for several years. He would have been 70 on his next birthday in June.

My husband and I came home that day to bad news delivered via a ringing telephone. My husband had dropped me off in the Barrens for a walk after errands in town. He met me on the front porch with a serious face: where did I want to sit to hear the bad news? I caught my breath, felt a twist in my gut: which one had we lost NOW?

I generally try to respect the privacy of my family members by not telling their stories. There are many private matters that belong to them. But I find I must tell some of my sister's tale to tell this one. I hope she would not mind.

Marilyn was dealing with depression that she could not shake. She was hospitalized for it. Then she got Covid on top of that. They discussed the possibility of shock treatments for the depression, which had worked for her in the past. But the place that does that evaluated her and deemed her a poor candidate for it due to her general poor health. Marilyn was also experiencing tremors related to Parkinson's.

My sister came home from the hospital in mid- to late April, and my husband and I called Denny at that point to check in. The news was that Marilyn was not good. She was sad, and spent most of her days in bed crying. She had lost weight, was unable to care for herself.

Denny told us that he was the main cook now, and he was trying to learn to make things like macaroni and cheese, comfort foods that Marilyn might be tempted to eat. She was asleep when we called and could not come to the phone to chat. My husband and Denny spent nearly an hour on the phone together, covering all the bases. The next news we heard was that Denny had passed.

Services were set for this day at 10 in the morning. My husband was asked to be a pall bearer, and he agreed; the first time he'd ever done that in his life. We left our house at 9 in the morning, dreading the day ahead of us, but worried more about my sister. Marilyn and Denny, who enjoyed 51 years of marriage, have one son, Jereomy, who has stepped in to take care of the family's affairs, in his father's absence.

My big brother Robin and little sister Julie and I chat almost every day on Facebook, so we were keeping the wires hot the night before and the morning of. What was everybody wearing? When was everybody getting there? What was everyone doing after? More importantly, how would we get Marilyn there? At first, it didn't seem like she would make it.

But Julie and I kicked around the idea of getting a wheel chair for transporting her, and Julie arranged it. You should have seen THAT episode, of us trying to get the chair put together and get Marilyn into it. We took turns pushing it, and most of us were very bad at it. (Including this former Manager of Access, mea culpa; if I whacked you with the chair by accident, please accept my sincere apologies.)

As soon as I saw Marilyn, I realized how poorly she was doing, and I instantly went to her side and put my hands on her. With a few exceptions, that's how I spent the entire services: right beside my sister, with her wrapped in my arms, holding on tight.

I said things to her, told her stories. I never got to tell you this, but I lived with my sister and Denny in the summer of 1984, when I was a pizza girl at Knoebels between semesters at Penn State. That job was arranged through Denny, whose good friend Carmen was in charge of Caesar's Pizza at the park. You have heard on these pages how much I adored being a pizza girl, what fun it was; and so I can thank Denny (and Marilyn) for setting me up in the best job of my entire life!!!

"Do you remember how I used to organize the canned goods and alphabetize them when I lived with you?" I asked her. She almost laughed. When the pastor was talking, and Marilyn started crying, I told her: "Denny is walking with Jesus and Barb right now!" Marilyn nodded; she knew Barb would look out for him, as she always looked out for all of us.

My mom is not overly mobile, and doesn't make it out of the house for much these days except doctor appointments. But my dad, Lee Colyer, age 92, showed up, walking with a cane. He rototilled the garden and chainsawed down a tree, which he chopped up and removed via a yard cart; and hurt his back. Thus, the cane. (You may see a shot of him and Mom in the extras; yes, Dad's shirt DOES say Because I Said So, That's Why.)

So Dad was with a cane and Marilyn was in a wheel chair. It was a major logistical feat, but my dad came up front to where Julie and Marilyn and I were sitting, arms all wrapped around each other, not far from the casket, and he pressed his forehead to Marilyn's. "Daddy's here, Doll Baby, Daddy's here," he whispered. And Marilyn cried. And I cried. And Julie cried, and we all wrapped our arms around each other and hugged a group hug.

From the funeral home, we processed through town to the cemetery at St. John's, where Denny would be laid to rest not far from my big sister Barb, who watches over us all. The photo above is a shot of the left side of pall bearers, carrying Denny's casket to his grave site. To the left is the pastor. With the casket, my husband is first, in the blue vest; then Cameron (my brother's son), and my big brother Robin.

We put two blankets on my sister in her wheel chair, and I laid my head against her head, wrapped my arms around her, willed my strength into her, as the pastor and other folks had their final say. The rain held off, and for that we were grateful. The cloud show was something extraordinary to see. And there, amid the peaceful rolling green hills, we carried Denny home, and laid him to rest.

I will never forget the grace that I saw my little sister exude as she took care of Marilyn on this day. Little looks. Whispered encouragement. Hugs. "You're doing great. This is almost over." And the moment when they first got there, when Marilyn asked, "Do I look okay?" And Julie said back: "You look BEAUTIFUL." I saw Julie pick Marilyn up out of the wheel chair and sort of dance her, like a marionette, into the front car seat. "Okay, little darling," Julie said; and then, the dance. . . .

My immediate family went back to my Mom and Dad's house, and two of my cousins dropped off food, which was well received: sandwich fixings, angel food cake, macaroni salad. We are grateful for their love and care. And there we hung out for several hours, just being together as a family.

Now, the news I learned is that Marilyn is going into assisted living today, Friday, as I type this. Marilyn has agreed. She is not able to take care of herself or stay alone. She has medications she takes that at this point must be supervised. She is not mobile. She is tiny and fragile and brittle. She is at risk for a fall. Her world has been shattered in so many ways.

Finally, late in the afternoon, we took our leave of them, and my husband and I headed back up the pike to our home, stopping along the way for a to-go chef salad at Sal's OIP.

As we drove up route 322, we went through several heavy rainstorms. I reminded my husband that one of the relatively recent family events we attended, we were nearly caught in a tornado on the way home. I wondered: would we get another one, this time, as we approached the Poe Paddy exit?

Well, the day had this little reward in store for us. For what did we see as we crested the hill and came upon that exit? A bald eagle was flying across the highways, about 12 feet above the cars, right in front of us!

No, I didn't have my camera out, and I probably would have gotten a crappy shot, but I sure would have TRIED. It was gorgeous. And huge. And amazing. You can go YEARS without seeing one around here. But there it was, as a special touch to make a difficult day a little more special. It felt like a sign that All Is Well. There was a Bible verse it brought to mind, which I'm including below.

But those who wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength. They shall mount up with wings like eagles. They shall run and not grow weary. They shall walk and not grow faint. Isaiah 40:31

Now, it is true that there are difficult days in life. And there are times that will try your soul. But my own experience on this day was that love was winning, in spite of it all. We were wrapped in love, surrounded by love, fed by love. With family all around us, we made it through it. And we are grateful.

And now I have a request: Please keep my sister and her son and their family and all who love Denny in your prayers, and lift them in the light, and hold them in your hearts, as they walk through the difficult days ahead. Thank you. And go now and hug your family, whatever family you've got left.

This was a day that had so much in it that I barely knew where to start, to tell this story. I hope I have left out the parts that might hurt someone, and included mostly only the ones that give us hope, that celebrate the best of who and what we are.

I need a pair of songs to go with this posting. First, I wanted a song for carrying, so here is Kansas, with Carry On Wayward Son, a personal favorite. My second song takes some liberties with the eagle sighting, and I dedicate it to my sister, whom I love with all my heart: here are the Eagles, with You Are Not Alone.