Bold Moves Are the Best Moves

Today we said goodbye to a 99-year-old storyteller with strong faith, a gentle soul, and a sweet tooth.

Ralph was the stepfather of a woman that exemplified true friendship. The kind that never missed a chance to celebrate your happiness even when her luck was down. The kind that was always up for an adventure at a moment’s notice. The kind that showed up with magic soup on your doorstep when everyone in your family was ill. The kind that left warm brownies on your counter when you arrived home from a long trip during which she spoiled your dog. The kind that held your hair back when you were sick.

She passed away much too young at 51. Her last request to the small group of us that were lucky enough to call her friend was that we take care of her mom after she was gone. We did that for two years, although my role was smaller than the others. While some helped manage finances and healthcare, I was on call when she couldn’t find the Jayhawk game on TV or had questions about her smartphone.

When I had more time over the last year, I started visiting the two of them more often and helped with occasional doctor appointments. When her health started to turn last winter, others in our group took charge, and my role became even easier. I kept Ralph company.

He told me stories of his time in WWII, the interesting characters he met as a claims investigator for Lloyd’s of London, his time as a Hospice Chaplain, and the lives of his 10 siblings. He was a clever storyteller but would always end each by telling me I had to decide which was true or not. What I do know is true is that he was number 10 of the 11 siblings. All of them lived to at least 100 except the youngest, who he told me died of a broken heart. He said it was an actual diagnosis, and I confirmed “takotsubo cardiomyopathy” is rare, but in fact real.

Ralph hoped to live to 100 like his other siblings, but then the love of his life passed away suddenly. It was crushing that she outlived two children, but we believed she’d always be there for her loving husband who was 15 years older. He was heartbroken.

In April, we all gathered to celebrate his 99^th birthday. While eating his desserts, he asked us to go around the room and tell a story about his beloved wife. The next few times I saw him, he didn’t recognize me anymore, but he always wanted to tell me about her. He never got to celebrate that Centenarian milestone, but I know his heart is now healed.