My good friend Agnes Welsh Eyster died last evening in hospice. Lymphoma got her. Even though she carried her hand knit red wool prayer shawl to radiation five days a week for a month, even though she laughed and entertained her family and friends until mid-summer.
Lymphoma got her even though a good friend sewed soft new cotton nightgowns to replace her most favorite gown which was in shreds. Even though she made herself eye patches with beads and embroidery and rummaged through her jewelry box to find the larger, more elaborate pair of Mexican silver earrings.
Lymphoma got her even though she covered her fig tree with mesh to confound the birds and save the fruit. Even though she ate arugula every day from her garden and doused it with olive oil and fresh lemon juice. Even though she made herself a strong cappuccino in the morning.
Lymphoma got her even though she loved her life and wished to remember every bit of it. Even though ideas for new artwork were forming in her mind. Even though she happily and compulsively pushed the send key on chatty, rambling emails to friends at 4:00 a.m. after awakening with hot night sweats.
Lymphoma got her. Even though Aggie was so ALIVE. And then, as Doyle said, "Aggie passed."
Agnes Welsh Eyster was a mighty woman and she leaves a deep emptiness for lots of folks.