My husband Jay Stoerker died on February 11, 2018. There, I said it even though it doesn’t seem real. Like others who have experienced this type of loss, it still feels like he is simply out of the house for awhile and will return. But I know in my heart that he won’t, and the memories we shared together over 37 years are mine alone now.
I still sleep on “my” side of the bed, and his clothes remain in “our” closet. As I go through old photos in preparation for his appreciation event coming up in a few weeks, I note with affection that some of the shirts that were new in those photos from so long ago are still in his drawers, quite threadbare at this point but in keeping with his tendency to wear every item of clothing until it was unrecognizable. He also loved hand-me-downs from older generations, so much of what he wore was hopelessly outdated. He hated shopping for himself, or getting a haircut, and often looked a bit bedraggled as a result, even though he held an executive position at his company. He never really cared what others thought about his appearance. It’s one of many traits of his that annoyed me to no end, but I would happily put up with if I could only have him back. (I mean really, is outward appearance the most important thing about a person? Jay certainly didn’t think so.) 
While I try to live my life without regrets, I do feel bad that I didn’t always appreciate the endearing quality of Jay’s irritating habits and his unusual, quirky sense of humor until it was too late and they were gone forever. Like the way he would let the toothpaste drip all over the bathroom sink and just leave it there, and I was always finding used dental floss threads all over the house. Disgusting, right? But how I long to be able to shake my finger at him once again as I ask him for the thousandth time not to mix darks and whites in the washer!
Being the brilliant, absent-minded nerdy scientist that he was, Jay never listened. I’m glad that he didn’t, and that he marched to his own drummer. That was one of the many reasons I fell in love with him. He was so much more than those annoying habits. Besides, I have plenty of my own irritating habits that he put up with, and we certainly had many angry “moments” over the years. But here is one thing I know for sure about a successful long term relationship:
When you are in love you get annoyed but hang in there anyway. When that annoyance turns to anger, you deal with it and hang in there anyway. And when crisis hits, the anger or annoyance lurking under the surface suddenly melts away and nothing matters but the love.
The Crisis
This post isn’t about the kindness (or lack of it) between Jay and me (although I’m sure there is plenty to write about on that topic…). It’s about the kindnesses that magically appeared from outside our cocoon when the unthinkable happened and he got sick. Before June 2017, Jay was the picture of health (or so we thought). Sixty-four years old, no illnesses to speak of, no medicines, exercised everyday. He was looking forward to retirement in a few short weeks. His diet was carefully constructed around what the research tells us will ward off pestilence and disease (those who knew him remember how he kept the broccoli and blueberry growers prosperous).
In the end none of that mattered. On June 10, 2017 Jay had a seizure that the doctors first thought was a stroke. The MRI blasted through that assumption, however, and confirmed that it was in fact a brain tumor. The bad kind. The kind for which there is no effective treatment. The kind that can kill you in a matter of weeks or months.
The doctors were hopeful at first that Jay might be one of the lucky ones to survive at least 3-5 years, maybe more. Then over the next several weeks as they learned more about it they revised the prediction to 1-3 years. As the weeks sped by it became more and more obvious that that prediction was also too optimistic. Even with the standard radiation and chemo, as well as a clinical trial for an experimental drug, Jay succumbed after only eight months. It was the most stressful, intense, horribly depressing, excruciating eight months for both of us that you can imagine.
Enter the Kindness Continuum
When Jay became sick I began a blog on the site CaringBridge.org, primarily to consolidate the information about what was going on and keep close friends and family informed about how Jay was getting along. As word of Jay’s sudden and tragic illness got around to colleagues, family, friends, friends of family, family of colleagues, friends of friends, family of friends, etc. etc. something amazing and totally unexpected happened. First, the number of people following the CaringBridge site expanded and spread way beyond the original target audience. Second, friends and family started coming out of the woodwork to be there for us, in all sorts of amazing ways. Some examples:
- Lots and lots and lots of cards, texts, emails and phone calls. (phone calls were particularly hard and often avoided because we were just too emotional most of the time to talk, even to close family members – people understood, thankfully).
- Jay was included in daily thoughts and prayers at numerous faith communities and by individual families, often by people who didn’t even know him or barely knew me. (Neither of us is particularly religious, but I’m the first to admit the possibility of powerful forces at work in the universe, and our spiritual selves soaked up all those prayers and good wishes that were offered.)
- People began to drop off meals periodically.
- Things showed up in the mail – flowers, food, a cozy blanket, a cozy wrap, even cash.
- Nearby friends, some of whom we didn’t even know that well, offered any kind of assistance we might need at any time we might need it, no restrictions. (an important byproduct of this outpouring of kindness is the proliferation of people I have become close to in so many different ways.)
- Friends opened their homes to family members when they came to visit.
- Other friends stayed with Jay at the house or went out and did shopping for me when we reached the point he couldn’t be left alone anymore.
- A total stranger took me out to lunch and let me cry all the way through the meal. (needless to say she is no longer a total stranger)
- People I had not been in contact with for over 20 years reached out to me when they heard the news.
I could go on and on and on.
This incredibly loving, genuine, authentic caring and support went on for the entire 8 months Jay was sick and has continued way beyond that now that he is gone. The outpouring of compassion and kindness touched my heart and was emotionally overwhelming not only because it was so appreciated but also because it was so unexpected. Neither Jay nor I had ever been through anything like this in our lives, and I still don’t understand where all this kindness directed specifically at us came from. (Hence this blog where I can explore that question at my leisure) I will never be able to adequately express to all those folks who reached out to us and continue to reach out to me what it meant to have them in our corner during our eight month crisis, and now as I pick up the pieces of my life and try to move forward.
Did all that kindness change the ultimate outcome for Jay? Not one bit. Did it make a huge difference in our ability to cope with what we were going through? Absolutely. And therein lies the lesson for us all:
Regardless of where you see yourself on the Kindness Continuum, know that any act of kindness you show to another who is in crisis will matter. When that act is driven by authentic compassion and rooted in empathy it will be deeply appreciated at whatever level it is offered.
It was this eight month first hand experience with kindness during Jay’s illness that is the driving force behind this blog. I needed to get this story out there so that readers understand the inspiration my experience fostered. I hope that all of you who provided all that love and support will recognize yourselves and know how much you are appreciated and how thankful I am.
What stories of kindness in a crisis have you experienced? Did it make a difference? In what way? What lessons did you learn?
Where does the Kindness Continuum fit into your life at this moment in time? Contact me if you would like to be a guest blogger and develop an idea or thought you may have.