Papa -- a hard loss

Back in the beginning of April, I wrote this article about Richard's dad, who had become bedridden and losing his battle with COPD and dementia. We lost him last week. He struggled for weeks unable to breathe, though his memory had a few days of clarity. He was able to recognize those who visited and say goodbye. It was heart-wrenching, but having the closure and knowing he was ready must make his loss easier for Mrs. Carolyn, his wife, and Richard and Steve, their two sons. 

Mama and Papa

We spent as much time as possible with him because we wanted someone to be with Mrs. Carolyn when the time came. Waiting while a loved one slowly passes away is difficult enough without having to face it all alone. So Rich and I made sure one of us was sitting in their house or within just a couple of minutes drive. Mostly we tried to help her in dealing with hospice, company, family, and her own grief.

He'd been in a semi-coma for a week when, finally, on Wednesday morning he took his last breath. I must say that first time that he stopped breathing for several moments was frightening. Not that I'm afraid of death, but because I had promised to call the family. But that was just a warning of what would come in less than an hour, and we were able to gather everyone to their house. 

Richard's parents, Richard Sr. and Carolyn; my parents, Riley
and Ellen (their 50th anniversary); and Richard and me.

People in our area have held wake services for the dead for centuries. Although it's rarely followed now, the Cajun French people of Louisiana held "the wake" throughout the night and into the morning when the funeral is held. Papa had made several things clear and "an all-night wake" (meaning a traditional service) was an absolute if we were going to follow his wishes. Of course, we would comply: a rosary, a mass, a burial in the plot he had prepared 20+ years ago. He had always made things simple. 

Friday we said our last goodbyes and prayed the funeral rites. Papa had been raised and remained Catholic for his entire life. It's quite calming to know exactly what to expect during a Catholic mass. Somehow it's easier to mourn. Father Sklar, who has been assigned to us for only a few weeks, had visited the family several times in the last month and celebrated with a beautiful eulogy. 

And so the last of the five Marcotte brothers is gone.

A Hard Day

Today was the funeral for the young man who died last week from when his friend shot him with an automatic rifle. Jake had many friends and family, but I was still astounded by the numbers that showed up last evening for the wake service, and this morning at the funeral. 

My husband and sons have always known Jake and his dad, so we are quite close. Additionally, Steve and Mike have been best friends forever, so our families are really connected. As I wrote a few days ago, we are friends who choose to be family. 


Sitting on the side and watching this young couple bury their only child was hard, sad, heart-wrenching. We came home this afternoon exhausted. Now, having taken a long nap, I still feel sad and exhausted, as though the wing was punched out of my lungs. 





However, we have to begin the process of living again: our youngest son had surgery a couple of nights ago, so we need to check on him (in person) tomorrow. The grands are going back to school tomorrow and their parents to work, so exhaustion is not an option really.

There is some comfort in knowing what a fun, loving big teddy bear of a guy, who would do anything he could to help others. I am proud that many of his high-school teachers, students from BHS, and friends visited to wish condolences to his parents.

What a loved and loving young man we have lost.