As the academic year of 2005-2006 began, I found myself out of teaching and living in South Bend. All my buddies were resuming their classes at Mother Guerin High School, and I missed our camaraderie very much. I sent volumes of emails to everyone, and kept in touch with 'current events' at the school. Everyone expected the usual adjustments with incoming freshmen and new administrative leaders, but none of us expected the bombshell fate dropped on us just as school was starting.
Cancer struck our dear colleague Marilyn.
The diagnosis was dire: stage four ovarian cancer. Surgery first, then massive chemotherapy, possibly followed by radiation. You can imagine the consternation, pain, and sorrow all Marilyn's friends experienced, and can perhaps imagine the devastation and fear she felt. We all know how deadly ovarian cancer is. It was just a horrible August.
I have been thinking about Marilyn this month (her birthday was in July), and tonight I re-read the emails she sent me while undergoing her first chemo that autumn. I'm glad that this occurred to me, because I felt like Marilyn was present to me again in all her old delightful insouciance and humor and energy and love of life.
She and our friend Cheryl and I managed to get together for meals in Chicago several times during those months, and savored every moment of those meetings. Marilyn handled the chemo very well, with a few ups and downs, and by Christmas, the tumor markers had dropped from very high to very low. Although her hair had disappeared, she had a very flattering wig and loved wearing it. Her oncologist believed that the treatments had greatly benefited Marilyn, and we all began 2006 in an optimistic mood.
Since I wasn't working at that point either, Marilyn and I exchanged movie reviews (we wore out Netflix, I think, and the public library and Blockbuster in our respective cities) and gardening tips (how to foil those aggravating squirrels when planting spring bulbs) and comments on everything under the sun. I rejoiced with her and her husband Joe when the White Sox won the World Series in October, and was truly glad for them, because they were life-long fans. (I know that when the Cubs win, Marilyn and Joe will be happy for me in Heaven.) All told, except for the fact that Marilyn was in the fight of her life, the autumn of 2005 passed quite pleasantly, and she and Cheryl and I rejoiced in our opportunities for 'messing around'.
The first months of 2006 also progressed well. Marilyn responded so positively to the treatments that, to the best of my memory, no second surgery was needed. Her prognosis seemed so much better than we had dared to hope. I tried to go in to Chicago as often as possible to meet up with her and Cheryl, and we kept up our emailing and phone calling. Marilyn's hair grew back, and she was just as cute as a little puppy! (I can see her face now as I make that observation.) All of her friends rejoiced, not only that she was still with us but also that she felt so well.
I began working at Notre Dame that summer, and my visits to Chicago tapered off somewhat. Everyone remained in close touch by email and phone, however, and I think we did get together for Marilyn's birthday. My last lunch with her and Cheryl was in August, I think.
As that comment reveals, Marilyn did not survive the cancer. Her condition suddenly began to deteriorate in late August, and while she fought valiantly, by Christmas we all knew that very little time remained. I went to Mobile, Alabama for a business trip and brought her back a Mardi Gras scarf for Christmas, but had to mail it as I couldn't get to town to deliver it in person. Our emails had diminished as Marilyn struggled with each day's challenges. Cheryl relayed updates to me from Joe, and by early January, it seemed that only a few weeks remained for Marilyn. The weekend prior to MLK Day in January of 2007, Cheryl called me and urged me to get to Loyola Medical Center because time was running out. I drove in, collected Cheryl and our dear friend, Sister Kay, and the three of us went to Marilyn's bedside. Marilyn didn't know us and was struggling. Her parents sat by her side, and I will never forget the heartbreak of watching her mother smooth Marilyn's hair. Marilyn died in the early hours of the next day.
Although I said goodbye to her later that week in Chicago, I haven't really lost her. I often look through my photos from our trips with students to France and Spain (with Cheryl along as the Third Musketeer!) and smile at the places we visited and the things we did. Every time I'm in Paris I think of her and remember how she could just chatter away in French with anyone (she was the French teacher at our school). When my daughter and I were following the Tour de France two years ago, I wished that I could send Marilyn emails about all those adventures in France. Silly though it might be, whenever I have a crepe or pain au chocolat, I think of Marilyn! Cheryl and I never tire of sharing our memories of this dear, dear friend.
Marilyn taught many, many 'Guerin girls' during her career and cared about each one. I admired her teaching skills so much! Few people have had as much fun living as Marilyn did. Although she hated to fly, she took trip after trip to Europe with her students, and even went island-hopping in the South Pacific with her father, a World War II Marine veteran. She and Cheryl travelled all over the US by train! She loved cooking and decorating and hosting her family and friends. I could never match her for energy, even though I was younger! She was a fount of creativity, always discovering something new to make or do. Her sense of humor and dry wit were legendary. She was so very, very alive.
Though her diagnosis filled us with apprehension and sorrow, Marilyn inspired us all with her courage and refusal to abandon hope. I can hardly believe that ten years have passed since cancer struck her. Writing about her tonight has inspired me to rise up and get back to our kinds of adventures and shenanigans, so that I might leave behind such memories, too. (And I'll continue to wear that Mardi Gras scarf, which Joe gave me after the funeral, to celebrate Marilyn's joie de vivre.)
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