Julianne was a hospice nurse who talked about her work as a "midwife" to dying people. She was a mother and she was a grandmother to three little boys she adored. Often, between shifts, she would drive to Copperas Cove to be with them. Recently, she was so excited because two of them spent the night with her in her house on Dewey Street in San Antonio.
She often told me she'd been a wild child growing up. She had a twinkle in her eyes. When I knew her, she was a gentle soul, kind to the core. Sometimes she'd call me and tell me she'd bought a Groupon coupon for dinner for two at a restaurant and we'd meet and have long conversations over a meal.
I can't believe she's gone.
Her service was on Friday. I was unable to be there because I'm here, in Georgia, and going today to a memorial for my Uncle David, my mother's youngest brother.
"Do you want me to go for you?" Janet asked. What an incredibly generous and kind offer--to go to a memorial service for my friend for me! I said yes, of course, and she went on Friday to say good-bye to a friend of mine she'd only met twice. One night--not too long ago--Julianne and I swam with Janet in her pool.
After the service, Janet sent me pictures of the service and this picture of Julianne. This is the only picture I have of her--as she never liked to have her picture taken.
She always told me she would never live to be an old woman. But--she said, with that twinkle in her eye, "I'm already a little old woman."
Everything she did, she did very slowly. It took her twice as long to eat a meal as it did me. When she washed dishes, she might spend a full minute on each glass or plate. She drove slowly. When she worked on people (back when she used to rent my apartment for that work) she might spend three hours. She talked very slowly and deliberately.
Our last conversation in person was at the Blanco Cafe--where she told me how much she was dreading an upcoming talk she was giving to an audience of doctors about her work as a lymphedema therapist.
She loved cookies--and I would sometimes pick up her favorite ranger cookies at a cookie bakery near her house. But she couldn't gain weight, hard as she tried. I'd be surprised if she weighed a hundred pounds.
On Wednesday, right after sending me a Happy Birthday text, she had a massive stroke, brought on by an aneurism she didn't know she had. Passersby found her slumped over on her porch and called EMS. She never regained consciousness and died the following day.
Julianne wasn't religious, though she did believe in an after life. She used to tell me remarkable stories about the conversations she had with her patients just as they were dying, and she felt that death wasn't the end.
I hope she's right. I like to imagine that she's living a different kind of life on a plane we, the living, can't see or imagine. I like to picture her taking fifteen minutes to savor one tiny little ranger cookie.
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