A public life lived, a private life shared

I have moments when I shake myself to ask: “How did I get in this position in the first place?” For someone who feels otherwise normal, I then remember it is tumors growing out of control on my diaphragm and stomach. I then further reflect on the women of East Africa who have the same symptoms that I do but who have no access to medical care. Ultimately, death certificates there simply read, “She died of pain.” –Donna Hanson, June 28.

The e-mails arrived every week or so all summer and into the early fall. Donna Hanson, director of Spokane’s Catholic Charities, was dying. Donna’s e-mails were sent to about 200 people. All of us forwarded them to others.

When you hold vigil with someone who is dying, you live life to the marrow of your bones. Everything else seems so shallow.

Donna handpicked those who held physical vigil with her – her husband, Bob, her children, her grandchildren, her hospice nurse, a smattering of friends, including her best ones, the Rev. Frank Bach and Mary Ann Heskett. But through her e-mails, Donna invited hundreds more into a virtual vigil.

I am sure I have gone through more yellow pads than any other Catholic Charities director in history. It has been my tradition to carry a pad, a sheet for each staff person with whom I work. The cover sheet includes all of those items that need to be coordinated among staff or simply done. A yellow pad remains here by my bed and thanks to everyone, a number of items have been eliminated from the yellow list. – July 1.

We hide from death in our culture. Our newspaper cannot print a photo of a dead person without generating complaints that the photo ruined readers’ breakfasts.

We baby boomers, the eternal generation, cannot hide much longer. Donna let us in on what death looks and feels like. An inveterate gift-giver, this was her final gift.

In general, when confronted with a terminal illness, the first reaction of people often is to say, “This could not possibly be happening to me!” Today, I can actually feel the tumors in my abdomen. Even with that, this past week I found myself waking one morning and thinking, “If I just get up and have some bacon and eggs for breakfast, everything will be fine!” – July 15.

Donna was the busiest woman I knew. She was not kidding about those yellow pads. They disappeared from the side of her bed as Donna, who always kept careful tabs on her public persona, began revealing more of her private self.

For me, it was the best part of her resume.

After not seeing three of my siblings in seven years, I completed wonderful visits with each one of them. We celebrated, cried, laughed and promised to share our stories with this next generation. The one lesson we offer is that if there are concerns unsettled or issues wondered about, please do not leave them hanging. We now know that much could have been relieved, changed and made far less painful had we talked about these topics years ago. – July 29.

In August and September, the e-mails grew spare, though Donna lived to mark her 40th wedding anniversary with Bob, lived to celebrate her 65th birthday.

Donna was spiritually ready to die, but her heart beat strong day after day.

The psalms really are the key. The daily ones cover virtually every human emotion. “Do not be afraid… Come to me all who are weary… I have chosen you… Listen to me.” – Aug 18.

Donna died Sept. 23. She was buried a week ago today. More than 900 people attended her funeral Mass at the Cathedral of Our Lady of Lourdes. The service lasted two hours.

The crowd included a Who’s Who of Spokane, yet few glanced at their watches and even fewer left early.

We cloak ourselves in busyness to hide from the eyes of death.

Listen closely to life, Donna told us, and you won’t be as afraid to look at death.

Donna’s e-mails became manna in the Internet desert.

Now, any remaining words have fled to eternity with her. And everything else seems so shallow.