Wednesday, March 25, 2020

"TO KNOW HIM WAS TO LOVE HIM," SAID EVERYBODY WHO KNEW HIM


“…..You can take my body.  You can take my bones. You can take my blood, but not my soul….”

Rhiannon Giddons: “Birmingham Sunday,” Freedom Highway

William Henry Thompson III no longer walks the planet - no longer dons his binoculars and heads to spot birds around his house or lead birders on treks to exotic spots around the globe. He no longer sits with his guitar on his leg, playing incredible riffs while his band and friends sing his favorite songs, and he no longer graces the world with his humor and love. It's been a tough one - a reality hard to fathom:  Bill Thompson, III, aka BT3, is gone, the victim of an unforgiving, rapid-paced, nasty pancreatic cancer that ultimately consumed his body and ended his life. As he always did, Bill lived his final days largely and lovingly until he exhaled for the final time on Monday evening, March 25, 2019, at 10:44 PM. I was fortunate to be with him earlier that day.

I am still stunned by this reality, and I vacillate between gratitude for his life and intense sorrow at his death. I grapple with disbelief at his absence, with celebration of a life fully-lived versus the heartbreaking, stark reality that he’s gone, gone forever. It’s going to take a while longer – much longer than the two months that have passed since those gathered shoveled dislodged ground back into his grave - to not experience daily waves of memories and grief unlike I’ve ever known, except with the passage of my parents.

I met Bill in 1980 when he was a freshman in the West College at Miami University. That year was my first year in the Marietta (OH) School System where I taught Spanish at the Junior High School. Laura Thompson, Bill's sister, was one of my students, and I suppose she mentioned me to Bill.  I really don't know what inspired Bill to come by school to meet me, but he did, and from that initial conversation in my dilapidated room at MJHS, our friendship began. I looked forward to Bill's regular visits, dancing with him at parties, hearing about his next adventure and his passion for and love of birds. Over time, Bill would play music at my house with members of his band, setting up sessions down in the silo by the barn more than once. As his life unfolded after college, we stayed in contact, and he kept me abreast of his life - from time in London to work in New York, from meeting his future wife, Julie Zickefoose, to his return to Marietta, from the birth of his children to their high school years (during which Phoebe, his daughter, was my student), from his travels across the globe to his newly defined relationship with Wendy Clark, and ultimately from his diagnosis to his last day on Earth. On his last birding trip in October, 2018, we were in close contact as he traveled through Colombia because he was going to be in areas where I had been a year earlier.

After his diagnosis, I mailed a letter to Bill once a week. I knew many folks were vying for visits with him, and I certainly didn’t want to intrude on time he needed to process his situation, get his affairs in order, and rest. Once he felt a bit better, he responded to my notes.  On February 11, 2018, he wrote the following:

“Dear Tanya-

I’ve finally gotten around to writing a few notes of thanks and the very first one is to you. Your many card and notes have been so uplifting and full of love – it makes me grateful to have you as my dear friend.

Not at all sure what’s ahead out there in the future, but then again, when has that ever been true? But I’m feeling better each day and am hoping for a good long run. There are so many friends to hug, songs to play, birds to see….

Love you, B.

PS: Would love to see you if we can make that happen.”

Later in February, Bill invited me out to have pizza with him and Wendy, but I couldn’t make it. Mac, my corgi, was desperately ill with pancreatitis, and I was afraid to leave him, so we planned for another time. Shortly thereafter, Bill invited me out to the “Pink Palace” for his birthday celebration of “making music with some of my far-flung pals. We’ll have good food, too.”

That day, March 3, 2019, is one I’ll never forget – watching Bill play “Summertime” while Elsa sang; standing beside him as he played while Julie, Wendy, and Mimi Hart sang, and holding his hand when he stretched out on the bed and took a break. Most of all, I remember his face and smile when I walked in the door and the hug he gave me at that moment. Very few people I’ve known could share an embrace with a powerful zap of love like Bill Thompson. His hugs always reminded me of the warmth I once felt from my happy days with Sam, my children's dad.

After the birthday event and knowing that Bill was slipping, we began texting back and forth, especially during the last week of his illness.  I had gone to NC to celebrate a remembrance of my parents at Appalachian State University, and on Sunday, March 24th, I got a final text from Bill asking me to come to him.

“Tanya, you best hurry…I’m pretty bad today, and it’ll only get worse. I don’t want to miss seeing you. Please come.”

My response:  “On my way home from NC. Heading out now. Hang on if you can…and if not, take flight with my arms wrapped around you, beloved Bill. You are with me every second now…you’ll be with me every second for eternity…every time I see a bird…every time I hear music, you’ll be there.”

Bill: “Thanks love. Didn’t want to miss seeing you.”

Me: “It’ll be late when I get home tonight, but I’ll be there tomorrow, I promise.”

Bill: “ Don’t rush love.”

Me:  “Headed home. We’ve got a date.”

Bill: “Oh yay!”

And so, on Sunday afternoon (3/24/2019), I packed up and headed home immediately, texted Wendy, and made plans to go out for a visit on the next day, March 25th, in the afternoon.

Now, I need to back track just a bit. Two years earlier on that same day (3/25/2016), my mom took flight. To say I miss her more and more as time goes on is a bittersweet admission. I long to hear her voice; I still am inclined to call her when I’m on the road; and I so wish she were here to enjoy Samuel and Eliza as they begin to think about building the foundations of their own families. And especially during Bill's illness, I sorely missed her guidance and wisdom.  I relied on what I "sensed" she was sharing with me. After she passed, I asked her to come to me in my dreams, and she did, in vivid, bizarre, unsettling ones that made me retract that request. Seeing and hearing her in very awkward, surrealistic dream space then was way too much for me, so I hadn’t asked her to come back until I was driving home from North Carolina.

My memories of that drive home from Boone through the WV mountains that afternoon are vague. I know I talked to Bill at length in my thoughts, and I talked to my mother, asking her to send me a dose of the strength and wisdom I had so frequently observed in her as she went to be with friends in their final moments.  I recall many of those who were dying waited on her to be with them so they could take flight surrounded by her peace and calming nature, and I know she considered those moments to be her most special, cherished memories of her 70+ years as a nurse.

When I arrived at the Pink Palace on Monday afternoon, Bill was outdoors with Andy and Wendy, and I could see he was trying to walk back in the house without their assistance. Andy left when they got him back in bed, and I moved over beside him to talk softly and hold his hand. He drifted in and out of sleep / consciousness, for he was exhausted from events of the morning and his “walk” outside. What was readily obvious was that Bill was near death – cold feet, purple coloring underneath his toe and fingernails, and a sporatic heartbeat -two short beats followed by a “thud” of a beat and then several seconds until the next two short beats. I couldn’t find his pulse in his wrist and was able to barely detect it in his neck. Wendy asked me if I thought he was leaving us, and I told her I thought it was best to call Julie, who came over immediately and was shocked at seeing his decline since the morning when she was last with him.

The hospice nurse, Kim, also arrived and confirmed our feeling that Bill was in his final hours. Her wisdom consoled and kept us in the moment; her attentiveness to Bill’s comfort and her professional skill was of great assistance.

Kim left after a bit, and from then on, my recollections are vivid though I’m not sure of the time element involved in the remainder of my stay. Wendy called Bill’s family to tell them to come, and shortly thereafter Laura and Bill Dauber arrived. Everyone who was there focused on Bill, for his breathing became more sporadic with extended pauses between inhales.

For me, the next few minutes were pretty much out of body. I held Bill’s hand, and he grasped me firmly. (I can see his hand in mind as clearly as if I had a photo of it.) Suddenly he opened his eyes and stared out beyond the bed into the next room. (Julie was at the foot of the bed with her phone, Wendy was in the kitchen, and Laura and Bill were on the sofa on the other side of the bed from where I was seated.) Bill seemed a bit perplexed as he looked into the other room, and he asked if Laura was there. And then he asked her, “Is that Gigi?”

When Bill questioned Laura about Gigi a second time, I turned and looked past Julie. I damn near cried out loud, for what I saw was my mother standing just inside the room beyond his bed – an “as-real-as-they –get” vision of my mom – in her nurse’s uniform, white hose, clunky white shoes she always wore to work, and with her cap on (which she never wore when she was in her office on campus). As Bill was staring intently in her direction, she opened her arms and motioned for him to come with her. And in that split second, I watched her drift, maybe float, through the door to the porch and disappear. Mom was healthy-looking, radiant in her uniform and surrounded by a pale shimmering, peach-colored aura that highlighted her smile and open arms. As quickly as I realized what I was seeing, she disappeared out the door. I couldn’t begin to verbalize what I had just witnessed. I just remember feeling great joy at her presence; I sensed a mili-second exhilaration similar to that which I remember when my children left my body at birth….that’s the best I can describe what I saw and felt.

Did Bill see Petie? Was he seeing her when he questioned if Gigi was there?  I’ll never know. For me, her apparition was real. I just know what I “saw.” Mom had come and was there in spirit, light, love –whatever or however one would describe such a seeing / vision. Instantly, I knew it was time for me to take leave, that Bill was awaiting his family and his leap into spirit before long.

I walked to the car, and wept – sweet tears of awe, of sadness, of surrender, of gratitude, of every emotion I can begin to fathom, yet I was comforted, for I had been in the presence of spirit unlike only one or two other times in my life.

I don’t remember driving out the driveway or turning left onto Dalzell Road. The next thing I do recall is turning left out a ways onto Stanleyville Road. There was a squirrel in the middle of the turn, so I stopped and watched it scurry away. Apparently I had inserted a CD at some point, and when I became aware of the music, Rhiannon Giddons was singing – hauntingly, powerfully….

            “….you can take my body, you can take my bones. You can take my blood, but not my soul…”  

Cancer might have taken Bill’s body, but never his soul.

And so, I headed home, accompanied by Rhiannon’s music and my random thoughts. At the bottom of the hill along Goss Fork, a great blue heron flew from the creek on the right and continued directly in front of me to the intersection below Sherm's and Caroline’s old house where I needed to turn right. Surprisingly, it seemed to be guiding me, as I was very much in another world myself. The bird didn’t ascend above the trees, but rather stayed about 15 feet above my car all the way out to the turn in the road. It followed every curve along the way and only ascended once I turned to go out State Route 26. ( I have a special connection with herons, for when I found out I was unexpectedly pregnant with Eliza, one came to me to let me know there was a little girl waiting to come through my body. I had been distraught with the idea of a pregnancy at 40 years old. The heron set me straight into acceptance and joy.)

Likewise, the following day, as I headed out the driveway, a red-tail hawk lit  from its perch on the lines out the way and flew, just as the heron had, just above the car to the end of the driveway. It was so close that I feared I would hit it if I didn’t slow down even more.

I can’t help but think those two birds were sent by Bill of the Birds as a sign he was there, guiding me along the way.  Since that time, more than just once or twice, I’ve sensed him around the farm and in North Carolina at my grandmother’s house. Like the butterfly that encircled Samuel, Eliza, Harrison, and me the afternoon of Mom's memorial service (in the middle of March), I know those birds were BT3's assurance to me that he was flying freely and guiding all of us along the way.

I think of Bill daily, and I worry 80% less and try to love 80% more, as per his advice.






Tuesday, January 07, 2020

March 25

I'm sitting in my upstairs workroom, surrounded by the stacks of handmade paper that will eventually work their way into projects I house in my mind, books that I just can't part with, and treasures (maybe junk, really) that are of value only to me. A red-shouldered hawk just flew into the tree across the driveway. As I stare at it, it stares at Loonis the cat, who stares back at the hawk, and I can't help but wonder if those two are thinking each could be a hefty meal for the other if they were hungry enough to put up the fight. The hawk looks as if it would have the agility and speed of youth; Loonis definitely possesses the wisdom of years and experience. My view from inside's just fine for me.

Today's an interesting day. I haven't been away from the farm other than to take my walks out the ridge for going on ten days now. Covid-19 has the world on lockdown. Life right now is a reality we've only experienced through sci-fi novels and films based in contagion and apocalypse. Each day evolves into a crazy dance whose steps weave in and out of the need to know and the desire NOT to know, whose rhythm can become more erratic and out of control unless we decide to waltz to the song of the birds. Isolated here at the farm, however, I feel just fine - safe with the corgis, connected with friends via technology modalities, and embraced by the spring flowers that wave to me in the breeze. This moment in time will be one we all remember, hopefully with greater understanding of ourselves, the world, and the precious connections that nurture our souls in moments of confusion and perhaps, fear.

March 25 will be a day of reflection for me as long as I live. Three years ago today, my mom - our beloved Petie - leapt into the world of spirit in the way she perfectly designed. Words cannot begin to describe the depth of my love for her, the good fortune I feel for having her as my mom, and yes, the longing I feel to hear her voice on the end of the phone or listen to her high-pitched laughter. I still hear her in my mind, especially during these crazy days, and I seek her wisdom many times daily as we navigate this consuming pandemic. She never fails me, and the nostalgia I feel for her today is greatly overshadowed by gratitude as large as the Universe for the love she shared with Daddy, Myra, Samuel, Eliza, Laury, and me, as well as so many, many others.

From my blog, shortly after Petie left the planet:
http://noticiasdelafinca.blogspot.com/2017/05/petie.html)

And a year ago, one the second celebration of Petie's passage, another beloved friend joined her in the spirit world. Bill Thompson, III, left his body to greater freedom in light. I think of Bill every day, and I am inspired by the life he led in his too-short 56 years. A creative soul whose light shines in song, in every bird I see or hear, in the echoes of the silo down by the barn, and in his legacy at Bird Watchers Digest, BT3 will be with us forever. Most obviously, however, he lives with loving vibrance in his beautiful, intelligent, creative kids, Phoebe and Liam.

From my blog, shortly after Bill's passage. Until today, I've only shared it with Julie and a couple of others. 
https://noticiasdelafinca.blogspot.com/2020/03/to-know-him-was-to-love-him-said.html

I'm now watching a somewhat cocky male cardinal singing at top volume to his lady who just flew to the feeder. While he channels Pavorotti from the tree, I think I'll go pick up my binoculars and head outside to get a closer listen....

March 25, 2020.......

Monday, January 06, 2020

IT'S BEEN A WHILE......

....in fact, it's been over a year since I paid attention to my blog. Pitiful. No excuses. I just haven't sat down to write. I plan to pay more attention to writing, simply because I enjoy having a chronicle of life here at Farmlandia.

We'll see how I stick to my intention.No judgment and no expectations.

2019 sped by like a streak of lightning.....passages and births, beauty and wrath in nature, friendships - new and old, those renewed and others eternally sustained, winter chill and summer heat, a family engagement to celebrate, trips and discoveries, great joy and doses of grief...... 2019, 365 days of deeper gratitude for life, regardless of joy or sorrow.

On the joyful side of the coin (and in no certain order):
~Samuel's engagement to Caitlin Axland, a wonderful woman whom he met by virtue of a book both were reading on the subway. We couldn't be happier for the two of them. Wedding plans are setfor September 26, 2020 in Chicago - a non-traditional ceremony witnessed by their two best friends, followed by a celebration and fiesta later in the day.
~A trip to Washington, DC, to hear Dr. Jane Goodall speak. I'm not a bucket list sort of person, but if I were, being in her presence would be toward the top of the list. My heroine. I wish my life were defined by the good work for the planet like she has accomplished. I remember wanting a chimpanzee, a REAL chimpanzee, as a child. I got a stuffed animal one instead, but Dr. Goodall got to work with real chimpanzees, and I've always been (positively) envious.
~A trip to New Mexico and visit with Caroline Koons and Joseph Henderson. I've always wanted to live in New Mexico, and visiting there after 15+ years of absence reminded me of why I love the people and land there as much as the mountains and folks of the North Carolina mountains. If there's fact to the notion of past lives, I know I was born and lived to a ripe old age in the Southwest.
~A visit in North Carolina with Peg Martin, a friend from birth. Our adventures over the years are well-known in the annals of our families' histories, and it was wonderful to retrace the footsteps of our youth, this time, without having to call someone to bail us out, however.
~Several weeks in the summer in Boone, defined by doing a little work on my parents' house, as well as attending concerts and presentations of the Appalachian Summer program with Terri Langdon: Ben Folds with the Winston-Salem symphony, The Punch Brothers, Lily Tomlin, the TESLA string quartet, and more. The arts vibrate in Boone! I'm proud of that.
~Another visit in Boone by Miriam and Jr. Murrell which included hiking in and around Blowing Rock, Linville Falls, and Pigeon Roost. 
~An Easter trip to Cincinnati to visit Eliza, Alex (her partner), and Dominic (Alex's son). Eliza and Alex had recently moved into a new house, and I got to help Eliza get some plants started. Her tomatoes produced much more successfully than my own, so I'm convinced a part of her mom's earthy personality has had a bit of influence on her Scorpio daughter. And as an aside, Alex is an easy fit in the Shook-Wilder clan. Both Eliza and Alex work at KAO in Cincinnati.
~Daily time spent with my sister, Myra, on the phone. She calls at the same time she and Mom used to talk in the evenings. Even if the conversation is little more than a run-down of the day's events, I look forward to hearing her voice every day.
~Bobbi's visit to the farm in July. Oh my, what a gift!. The two of us had extended time together for the first time in years, and laughter reached a 10+ on the Richter Scale. Since her visit, the Marco Polo (app) connection keeps us in touch daily. Bobbi's the first farm child....we've been connected for almost 40 years now.
~The blessing of friends, near and far.....Diane Bosley and Norm Sartorius, Terri Greene Langdon, Richard Randall, Pam Plaskett, my mah jong buddies, my garden club friends, and all those whose lives enrich mine. Friendship's nothing to be overlooked in terms of one's overall well-being, and the love of many sustain me from every direction. I'm grateful for my friends.
~The two beings with which I spend every day - my beloved Mac and MerryBelle. Though I'm not too happy with Mac's smell today (he rolled in fresh deer poop), I have no idea what I'd do without their presence in my life. With unconditional love and understanding beyond what I can fathom, far-surpassing what many humans understand. their corgi smiles frequently brighten my day more than anything else.
~Farm kids: Bobbi, LoriBeth Huck Auldridge and family, Brett Potash and family, Dana Kinzy and family, Meera Chary and family, Tom Jackson and Chintu Bastian, Harrison Fahrer,  Renato Jaramillo, Yuki Sento, Bob Ritchie, and all those who've spent time here as a part of the farm family bring me joy every day.

And on the flip side of the coin, 2019 landed some poignant doses of sorrow:
~Lera Britt Randall's passage - My second mother, my mentor, my mother in my own mother's absence, my friend, left the planet this year. For all but about 5 years of my life, Aunt Lera was always just a call across the driveway or a phone call from wherever away. After my own mother's passage, Aunt Lera's leap into spirit leaves a huge void for Samuel, Eliza, and me.
~Bill Thompson, III,  - a friend I've known since I moved to Marietta, brother to one of my first students here, friend since his college days, editor of Bird Watcher's Digest, and over all great musician - succumbed to pancreatic cancer on the anniversary of my Mom's death. Two years to the day after Mom died. I'm still stunned when I see photos of a healthy Bill, finding it hard to believe he's left this earthly plane. I'll write more about Bill later. Even on this beautiful sunny winter day 10 months after his departure, I remain in disbelief at his death.
~The dire situation of the Earth brings me great concern. Climate change, destruction of habitat, the huge decline in the number of birds on the planet, the extinction of species, etc. can stop me in my tracks. Here at the farm, I notice a decline in the number and species of birds from one year to the next. BUT, I believe there's hope for a reversal in what seems an overwhelming task. I refuse to give in to the pessimists. Ignorance and complacency on this issue will not prevail!!
~The current situation of the United States under the leadership of an authoritarian / dictatorial / ignorant narcissist. I'm not going there in this post, but it's no surprise that I hope the current leadership in DC is not longer in place after November, 2020.

OK.....that's it for now. I'm sure there'll be revisions in this post over time, but I want to get something posted to mark another item off my "I"m going to do this" list.

Happy 2020 to all from Farmlandia!