Summer 2002 volume 98 issue 3 : letters
Re: Not By Any Other Name
Not that long ago, for the first time and with great enthusiasm, I wrote to Class Notes about my life's adventures with my husband. It was after a wonderful summer during which Rick attended Harvard Graduate School of Design, and I reconnoitered Boston's south shore. How could I know that within days after arriving home, he would be diagnosed with lymphatic cancer and over the next 90 days deteriorate till his death on November 19. This letter is prompted by the comment on the last page of the spring Vassar Quarterly. I never said Rick "passed away." He died - as did my father when he walked into the hospital at the age of 90 and died within the week - and my mother who was hit by a train when she drove over a grade crossing when the gate failed to operate. In the latter cases, I accepted and was "insulated." As close as I was to my parents, when Rick, my husband of 40 years, died at the age of 63 there was no insulation - only that provides by the brain's ability to prevent the totality from getting through. Subsequently, the loss - the grief - becomes part of every day. It's inescapable, inevitable, and unending. Family and friends are supportive, and you get on with it, but you never get over it. No amount of information or discussion can change that.
Jean Schaeffer Ackerman '54
Manahawkin, New Jersey