At Peace

Leslie is at peace; she died this morning at 6:27 with our family all together.

Our family has had blessedly few close encounters with death, so none of us knew what to expect.  The passing was remarkably peaceful, particularly given that her last 48 hours were characterized by restlessness.  She held and squeezed our hands, her respiration became soft and shallow, and in the final minutes the breaths simply came farther apart, until they stopped entirely.

We will hold a memorial gathering for Leslie, but have not set a date; it likely will not take place until May, at least, as we want to give family and friends plenty of time to make arrangements.

It seems unfair that Leslie was taken on a lovely spring day in Chicago, when normally she'd have found peace in her gardens.  Caroline, Emily and I spent some time there, later this morning.

So often, I'd come home to find her sitting on the front stoop or back porch, simply staring.  Sometimes, she was envisioning rearrangements - digging up plants and changing their positions.  Sometimes, she was on the phone with her sister Ellen, who until recently ran a perennial nursery, trying to identify the perfect plant for one of the few open spots.  Sometimes, she was simply lost in the ever-changing riot of greens and colors - her garden was planned for three-season splendor.

Leslie had two other gardens - one at Lab for her fourth grade students, and one in Little Compton, Rhode Island - the one consistent "home" in her 54 years.

She began planting vegetables there a few years ago after reading Barbara Kingsolver's Animal, Vegetable, Miracle.  Leslie spent as much as possible of her teacher summers there, documenting its growth in photo essays for her students.  The garden yielded sumptuous amounts of shell beans, potatoes, eggplants and tomatoes, some of which she left in Rhode Island and some of which she brought home (have you ever carried 30 pounds of tomatoes past TSA?).

These weren't the biggest bounty of that garden, however; what grew best by the ocean were relationships.  Leslie spent time with her parents, gently helping them make accommodations to keep themselves safe and fulfilled.  When Leslie first tilled the space, her mother was suffering from back problems and her father from early Alzheimer's.  The garden became conversation pit and fitness center, and by the end of the first summer, her mother was sitting on a stool and weeding, and her father was hauling brush to his beloved bonfire pile and fetching the hose and tools.

Last summer, with Leslie in chemo, the garden returned to wild, though the reaping continued; Leslie was able to spend thoughtful time with her parents, her siblings, and friends who accompanied her to "the Comptons."  Later this summer, Caroline and Emily and I hope to return Leslie to the place she loved so much.

Bringing peace and closure to this difficult day, here are some images from Leslie's many gardens.

Little Compton garden, in process

Leslie loved having the tiller in her hands - whether gardening or sailing.

 

 

 

The Lab School garden being prepared.