She was the sauciest Brit in the house.
She was a lovely, funny, dear lady.
She lived a long and fascinating life which ended this morning in that gritty St Elsewhere of the Twin Cities, Hennepin County Medical Center.
Pamela Cook deserved better than that. She had traveled the world, and she had seen sights I may never see. She told us stories of what it was like to live in London during the blitz. See "The King's Speech"? Why bother? She listened to him make the speech, live, over the air! I didn't know her long enough or well enough, but I will treasure until the end of my own life the little time I did get to spend with her.
She was an illegal alien, and yet she did not steal one American job or threaten the stability of our nation in any way. If I remember correctly, she thought our political system here was "bloody bonkers" or something like that.
Pam was my husband's best friend's mother, and she outlived her son and her ex-husband. It must have torn her apart to see her only son drink himself to death. I kept her voicemail for the longest time, "Phil, John passed away in the night..." but I couldn't keep it forever because I couldn't bear to remember her that way. The way in which I wish to remember her is smiling and laughing over dirty double entente's at Christmastime; the way she praised my simple little dinner, the way she raved over the cranberry sauce. Can you imagine? Eighty-three years old, lived in the U.S. for years, and she never tasted home made whole-berry cranberry sauce before last Christmas.
Her last Christmas.
I gave her a whole quart to take home with her. I can make more cranberry sauce any time.
In the past few years now since her son, John Felix, passed away, my husband Phil has been diligent about going to visit with her at her apartment, sometimes bringing his daughter Mallory along. I never got over to her apartment. Life moves too quickly for us all, and I have many friends I never see face-to-face. In 2010 I caught up to one of my girlfriends from high school for the first time in 34 years, at her home in the suburbs of Philadelphia. Friday night I ate dinner with a friend who lives right here in the Twin Cities not ten miles from me, who I had not seen in over two years. Just never enough time for everyone, is there?
Once she went into the hospital, though, like most of us foolish little humans I realized that time was running short. I tried to get over there as often as possible. Many times it meant going from one hospital to another in the same evening after work, in order to see both Pam and our daughter-in-law Amanda (at Fairview, battling leukemia).
After the funeral service for my friend Deb Rapacz, I went to see Pam at HCMC, still in my dark clothes and "church-goin' hat". I even had to keep my (very) high heels on because of the long dark skirt. Pam loved the hat, and she was surprised to see me so early in the afternoon. "Did you dress up like this just for me?" she asked. Of course I told her I did. And maybe I sort of did... for her as well as for Deb.
I want to remember Pam the way she was a few weeks ago, when she was her old spitfire self, sitting up in bed and saying in that lovely, well-educated accent, "I've decided I'm going to teach them all a lesson and not die." I firmly believed she would, too. She wanted the two of us to spend more time together. "When I get out of hospital, I want us to become better friends", she told me, "we should have done, all along."
Quite right, old girl. We should have done, all along.
Thank you for the time we did have, Pam. We'll be coming to say a last goodbye to you soon now. I'll wear the outfit (and the hat) for you as well.
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| Bonnie and Clyde with the tree, that last Christmas Eve of Pam's. So grateful to have had that evening with her. |
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