A World Without Annie: Day 3

Snow in April.

Mother Nature is clearly having as hard a time as I am. Losing one of her beloved daughters has sent her into a rage, sending torrential rain and wind gusts tearing through porches and trees and snapping branches in two the day after Annie died. The next day she blanketed the ground with snow. Today we had an earthquake. And it’s cold for April, because the world lost one of its most loving and warmest humans. It will always be a little colder here for me now.

I knew we couldn’t hang on to her…her body was riddled with cancer inside and out. As much as she was okay with my writing about how she was handling this cruel diagnosis—and writing about it herself--she didn’t want me to describe her in ways that made her seem frail. And she wasn’t, really…she was the strongest person I have ever known. Her death wasn’t a surprise, it’s more of a surprise how long she fought.  We now know that her body probably started shutting down after her last procedure less than a week earlier—removing the biliary drainage bag that so disrupted her life. The expected results didn’t happen—she wanted the removal to free her up enough to resume some of the things she yearned to do, mostly be Luca’s mom. But even as she continued to clean and dress the growing eruptions of the skin metastases that covered her chest, follow up on emails and bills and plan her contribution to Easter dinner, she did it a little slower and with more pain. We saw it, of course, but there was always something to attribute it to—the radiation, the side effects, recuperating from the surgery.

On her last night in this world, something made she and Tony decide to have a conversation with Luca about (what we thought would be) the next few months as Annie grew weaker. They had always been age-appropriately open with Luca, but they felt it was time to start preparing him in earnest, since her doctor gave her very few options at her last visit, hospice being one of them. She didn’t like that word—or that prospect. For all the time she kept her outlook and attitude positive, I believe she must have decided to face the knowledge that her time with us was getting shorter, so her first priority was Luca.

In a note I found on her phone, she listed her three “lifetime proud moments” and Luca was at the top. Luca was always at the top of her lists and she was working on putting together an album of notes, photos and memories for him. She was fierce in her devotion to her family and friends and community and had a passion for respecting and honoring the earth through her conservation work. She was just true and good and beautiful and funny and smart. A beloved daughter.

Annie & Christina in Paris…her dream trip.

The past two months with her have been the hardest and I’m so grateful I could be with her because her usual tough exterior dropped away in her most frustrating moments. She tried to protect all of us by keeping her suffering to herself, so the very few times when she snapped at me or spoke with exasperation, I saw it as a blessing that she was sharing her true self with me. And what I saw was a woman who had worked hard all her life to fix and help and make better feel helpless at not being able to do that for herself. Throughout this terrible journey, she never looked back at past decisions or treatments, she kept moving forward and insisted that we—her family—follow her lead. And we did. But in those darker times she confessed to wishing she had done some things differently. Like when your doctor says, “Your cancer isn’t following the rule book” get another doctor. Lose the breasts sooner. Push back harder on “standard of care.”

I don’t think she died with regrets; she lived her life more fully than people twice her age. She only wished she had more time—time to be outside in the sun, time to spend with her friends, time to pursue her writing and her creativity, time to be in Maine, time to walk Charlie, time with Tony, time with her family. And more time with Luca. Always Luca.

A world without Annie will be noticeable. She never thought of herself as particularly special or influential or anything. But she was and the world will notice. And I will notice.

Every day.

Annie's obituary