Death and Life Revisited

Published in slightly edited form July 16, 2014 in Tulare County's Foothills Sun-Gazette

Monday, July 14, 2014.  I asked my customers at the market last night what I should write about.  One said “the heat.”  Another said “the city council.  Or the heat.”  When I woke up this morning to ominous cloud cover, it certainly looked like the heat was winning.  But what’s on my heart is death, and life.

     This past week had more than enough death in it for me, and more than enough life as well.  Two of the animals I’ve tended for years came to their ends, assisted by our beautiful vet Jamie Wilson and the women who work with her.  “Sisters of Mercy” ran through my head all week as I dug their graves and set aside their feeding bowls.

     Another cat I’ve loved since 1998, when she came as a one-eyed kitten, rescued from the park by some teenage girls, seems to have gone off her food.  She doesn’t do well in the heat, so I’ve been watching her closely and holding her more often, lining up my cat-saving supplies: oral electrolyte, tuna in water, canned Friskies, petromalt.  Thank God it seems to be working.

     On the life side, I found homes for two pups who’d been running loose in the neighborhood.  I’d corralled them on the front porch, re-establishing the fence that had not kept in the three little dogs who eventually were taken by the Central Valley Rescue Railroad.  When their owners didn’t come claim the pups, I changed my sign from “FOUND” to “FREE,” and two lovely families each took one home.  Now their lives as the family dog can begin.

     And all of that, it seems clear to me, was preparation for the news that came Saturday morning about my friend Jim Chlebda.  Some of you may remember him from the years he lived in Springville and published South Valley Arts Magazine.  Some of you may remember him as the publisher of Wilma McDaniel’s books of poetry and prose, and certainly her biggest promoter as well as stand-in son.  If you ever met him, you wouldn’t forget him:  he’s the most remarkable person I’ve ever known.

     Jim has been up at Stanford the last few weeks, waiting for the double lung transplant that could save his life.  He was born some 58 years ago with cystic fibrosis, and his lungs have finally succumbed to the bacteria that kills people with this disease.  The normal life expectancy for people with CF is still around 20; he’s tripled his life by taking care of himself and living with more abandon than most people risk.  His lifelong awareness of his own probable death let him live each day fully.  He helped people come into print who otherwise would have stayed wistfully on the margins, including me.  He encouraged people to risk living who didn’t have a life-threatening disease in their genes, including me.

     Friday Jim was taken off the list for a new pair of lungs.  We’re still investigating the reasons and hoping for a reprieve.  Today they will be meeting to set up palliative care and hospice arrangements.  My heart is still throbbing, dull, with the meaning of all this, trying to adapt to a new reality: that Jim will be living inside of me now, and not outside anymore.  That Jim will be present whenever two or more of his friends are gathered, but not physically in the room, able to surprise and delight us with his wildly life-affirming perspective and humor.

     Trying to adapt, finally, to this simple fact:  this is life.


(Note:  At 7:57 this morning, just as I was posting this piece, Jim Chlebda went through "this other window," as he called it the last time we spoke, and crossed into the eternal.  Thanks be to God for keeping him here as long as he was, and for taking him quickly in the end.)

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Trudy Wischemann is a writer, thanks to Jim Chlebda, who lives in Lindsay.  You can send her your stories about Jim c/o P.O. Box 1374, Lindsay CA 93247 or leave a comment below.