Our Last Drive For a year or two Avis and I had been taking walks around the park, but lately she had been slowing down; and scraping her foot now and then, and that had been happening more often. So we changed our practice: She would drive to Ridge Park, where I would cycle; and we would sit outside, watching the muskrats and birds. A little later, Avis could not drive anymore, so I would take her for drives in the country. And every day she would say “I hope that I can beat this.” (She had been diagnosed as having pancreatic cancer.) And the tone of her voice had changed. She sounded subdued and reflective. “It’s strange how quickly things can change,” she said. “Only a week ago I was walking around the park.” She wanted to go to the lake where her father had taken her fishing. It was a long day’s drive, there and back; but she wanted another drive next day. As we were late in getting started, I suggested a short drive to Raymond, to the Dairy Queen. When we arrived, I asked if she wanted me to bring a Blizzard to the car, instead of having her go to the shop. “Yes” she said. (I had noticed that she had had a lot of difficulty getting into the car.) When we got back Paul and I both had to help her to get out of the car. An hour later Paul phoned to say that they had called an ambulance to take her to the hospital. Paul had wanted to do that in the morning, but she had refused. She should have had more sense, I thought; she should have gone in the morning, if she had felt badly then. But later it occurred to me that she had known that when she went to the hospital she would not get out; and she wanted to make the most of her last half-day of independence, doing what she could of what she enjoyed. I saw Avis again two days later, after she had a stroke. I told her that I had gone back to Ridge Park, and had seen the same muskrats, and the same birds. And then I said, “Ill take you for a drive again tomorrow.” She smiled a crooked smile with the left corner of her lips, and she squeezed my hand firmly. Ben

Paul - how do I let you know that, even though I hadn't known Avis for long, she has left a mark on my heart and now a void in my daily walk. I always looked forward to sharing a walk and talk with her. My four-legged friend (Patch) knew Avis by name . . . looking for her whenever we were in the neighborhood park. May memories of wonderful times shared help you through the days ahead and may she rest in peace. My sincere condolences.

So sorry for your loss.