Old - October 3, 2008 - Sam and Amy

Sam and I met when I was in high-school, when I was selling ads for my high school newspaper. He owned a cabinet store, and every year he'd put an ad in. I'd leave his office thinking "Well, he's a nice old guy."

We met again in my early 20's, he in his mid-40's. I spent a year out of college, most of it working in Daddy's office and on several occasions stopped by his office for some reason or another. I thought he was an amusing old goat. Sometimes I'd just go in if I was walking by. "Hi, Mr. H!"

He'd reply, "What's up, Baby", much the way an uncle would his favorite niece.

After I graduated, I took a job at a newspaper in a nearby town, and Sam's office was one of my regular stops. I'd come bopping in, ready rescue Sam from all his advertising woes. Sam would listen to my pitch with a bemused smile, and I think he bought one ad a month out of pity. Conversations soon turned beyond advertising, and week after week we debated all aspects of our worlds: parents, children, dating, life, death.

Sam had been widowed for some time, and we often swapped stories about who we were dating... I chastised him often for being a lousy old dog, he'd give me this "are you an idiot" look and grumble when I'd tell him about the stupid things my latest love-interest did. Of course, at the ripe old age of 24, I knew all there was to know. However, as often as not, something he said would have me thinking hard about things long after I left. I later took a job right across the street, and spent many a lunch hour at the cabinet store. We developed a fondness for one another... and a friendship that I suppose defies most social norms.

I eventually took a job in Lexington, got married, and didn't get to see or talk to Sam so much... but I stopped by when I could. One day, out of the blue, he called me up, "Kelly, I'm getting married!"

"WHAT? WHEN? To WHOM?"

"Next weekend. Oh, you'll like her Kelly, she's a really nice little Catholic girl. You may know her, I think she's about 2 or 3 years older than you."

"I didn't even know you were serious about anyone! How long have you been dating?"

"Two months."

I smacked my forehead and settled in to hear all about Amy, the sweetest woman that I HAD to meet. She had been widowed for just over a year, and a friend had introduced them. He went on and on about her mannerisms, her gentle and kind way, her devotion to God and to the church, and how they had discussed the pain and the different aspects of what it was like to lose a spouse. They understood one another.

I met her briefly on a couple occasions, and thought she was everything Sam said she was... too good to be true and as he would freely admit, too good for Sam, but she was just crazy about him. I remember that it crossed my mind then, "Oh, this poor woman, Sam's so much older, she'll have to go through that pain again.."

Fast forward a few years, Deat and I moved to L-town. I called or stopped by here and there, checking in. Sam took a job as a traveling sales rep for a cabinet wholesaler, and Sam's son, Bo, took over the cabinet supply. About twice a year I'd call the store to chat with Bo (bless his heart, Sam completely made over) and see how Sam and Amy were doing. They had built a house and moved to Cynthiana, with Bo building one close by.

On one of these calls, Bo informed me that Sam had cancer and had been undergoing treatment. (I still remember sitting in the parking lot where I pulled over, tears running down my face as I listened.) "Kelly, here's his home number, you need to call him, he's really down. Try to cheer him up a little." Amy clucked a bit over his condition, and was glad to put him on the phone. He sounded tired and frustrated, but managed to chuckle a little anyway. I made a point to check in with Bo more often.

Several months later, in July, was when Deat first became ill. Not long after Deat and I both went back to work in September, I called Sam to check in... he had been declared cancer-free! We laughed and talked about the struggles of illness, and the recent triumphs in both our stories. Sam could not say enough about Amy and her tireless devotion throughout his ordeal.

January came, Deat developed the infection and his condition worsened. Never wanting to sound negative, I didn't really reach out to anyone with my fears... Deat and I discussed them in a hypothetical way, but talking about them to anyone else would make them too real. In February, Deat's body had had enough, and he died.

About a week after the funeral, knowing no one would think to tell him, I called Sam's cell. He was leaving Louisville driving back home when I told him what happened. We talked for 2 hours (his whole drive home), me catching him up on the specifics, Sam sharing protective advice and counsel that can only come from one who has been through it. Near the end of our conversation, he told me, "Baby, I could barely see to get out of Louisville," admitting to his tears of concern.

He e-mailed me next day, checking in, and told me to call the next chance I got, Amy wanted to hear how I was doing straight from the horse's mouth. A couple days later I called, and it was Amy and my turn to be on the phone for hours. We talked about the unfairness of losing a spouse, and I believe it's the only time I ever heard a trace of anger in her voice. We made plans for the girls and I to come visit on my next trip back home, I think in part as an escape for the girls and me, but as much to reassure Sam and Amy that both that the girls and I would be okay.

On the Thursday before we planned to visit, Sam called and said we'd have to make it another time. He said Amy had been sick and become jaundiced, so they were afraid she'd contracted hepatitis somewhere and he that he and Amy didn't want the girls to be exposed to it. When I called the following Tuesday to check how her doctor visit went, it was my turn to lose my ability to see through the tears: pancreatic cancer. He vowed that they were going to fight it, though I could hear in his voice that he knew the finality of the diagnosis. He said to give them another week, but to come visit anyway... that seeing the girls would be good for Amy, and he wanted it to be before she started chemotherapy.

We had a good visit. Amy was obviously weakened, and as was Amy's way, she was more worried about Sam than herself. She bragged on his attempts at housecleaning, and shared what their treatment plans were. When we were alone, she spoke words of hope, but I knew, even though he was out of earshot, they were more for Sam's benefit than her own. Her voice resounded her calm acceptance of whatever her future held, sure it was God's plan.

We spoke a few more times after that visit, but I, like so many during Deat's illness, never knew whether to call and check in, or to use fear of interrupting their hectic schedules as an excuse to let me hide from it.

Nine AM this morning in my inbox: sent at 8:30, from Sam's e-mail, subject line, Amy. I had tears in my eyes before I opened it. The note, simply that she passed away yesterday morning... no more explanation needed, he knew, I'd know. I left a message on his voice mail, and waited.

He called a couple hours later. We talked of her last days, and of Deat's; of the arrangements he chose, versus the ones I did. We shared a joke we'd made some time ago about God and our confusion in all this. At this moment, these are mixed tears I shed: some for Sam, some for me.

Good bye, sweet Amy, goodbye. I'm so happy you're free of the hurt. Thank you so much for all the love you showed my dear friend. He'll be fine, he's a tough old bird, I'll check on him as I can. Tell my husband I love him... Until we're all together again.