Dealing with an awful mystery ~ October 29, 1998

David Heiller

Lorely walked from her bed to the kitchen table, and sat down. It didn’t take long before Collin was there to give her a big hug.

Grandma O and the doll house she 
assembled for Malika one Christmas. 

Lorely’s face held pure joy mixed with a little bliss. A hug from a six-year-old grandson first thing Sunday morning must feel pretty good for grandma.

Lorely didn’t sit there long, maybe 15 minutes. She was in a lot of pain. She has had cancer for more than three years, and it seems to be getting worse fast.

She can barely walk or catch her breath. She is most comfortable lying in bed. She hardly eats. She’s staying with us so that Cindy, her daughter, can take care of her.

Some of her grandchildren know the score. I realized that when I saw our son, Noah, sitting on the bed next to Lorely a couple weeks ago, telling about his day, asking about his grandfather and the Good Old Days. He wouldn’t normally do that. But he’s doing it now. Our daughter, Malika, has been asking a lot of questions too.

Nancy, Mom and Cindy on a trek to
 Duluth and Enger Tower. 
She's wearing her wig, but feeling alright, 
happy to be on an adventure with us.

Some of the children, like little Collin, have sensed that something isn’t quite right. They know that when Grandma sits in the chair and asks for a hug, there’s no time for hesitation, it’s just time for a big embrace.

Either way, it's heartening to see, because they aren’t afraid of what is happening, and because they will cherish those moments in the future as much as Lorely cherishes them now.

We hustled around the house on Sunday morning, getting ready for church, where Noah was being confirmed.

I asked Cindy if Lorely could go to church. Seeing Noah get confirmed meant a lot to her. She had been looking forward to it for about three weeks, or maybe three years.

Cindy said no, her mother couldn’t possibly sit through a church service. A week ago she could have. Not now.

Collin, Noah, Malika, Claire,
Grandma O and Grace at the cabin.

So we went to church without her. She stayed home alone. That didn’t seem right, but it’s what she wanted.

During the service I thought about Lorely several times. The ministers have prayed for her often in the past year. So have other people. I’ve felt her in the church with us several times, during certain songs. One that I still remember was Beautiful Savior.

I think she was there with us in spirit again last Sunday, there with Noah when he said his vows.

Grandma wanted a picture of her
and Claire, both chrome-domes.

After church, when we got home, I went into Lorely’s room and told her a little about the service. It had gone okay. Noah did a good job. He had stood up straight and didn’t scowl. He spoke clearly, and sang a song with the others without mumbling too much. Those are victories for a teenage boy when it comes to confirmation.

Lorely said she wished she could have been there. She held my hand very tight, and fought back tears.

Cindy and her sister, Nancy, and sister-in-law, Therese, spent a lot of time with Lorely on Sunday. They talked to her, rubbed her back. Women are good at that, better than me at least.

It must have been comforting for Lorely. I can’t imagine what she is going through. But I know I would want that if I were her. Her devotion to her children is paying dividends.

I don’t have much experience with an illness like cancer. It’s a mystery to me. It comes and goes seemingly with a mind of its own.

Doctors might disagree. But doctors have tried enough treatments and prescriptions on Lorely to make me think they don’t have the answers either.

What the future holds for Lorely, and for her circle of loved ones, I can’t say. We’re taking it one day at a time, while hoping for gentleness and strength and a little help from above.

I wrote the above column on Monday, October 26. It has a sad ending. Lorely Olson died early Wednesday morning, October 28, 1998.