Getting a Head Start

July 25th, 2023

Karin was at the doctor’s office yesterday morning. I was at home with little Asher, who was taking a well-deserved nap after visiting three different playgrounds. After I had settled Asher into his bed, the phone rang. It was Karin’s sister, Christa, calling from Germany.

I was uneasy when I picked up the phone. Christa’s husband had been very sick for a long time. For the last few years, Franz’s health had been declining. Franz had a cardiopulmonary disease. He couldn’t get enough air, and he had been using oxygen for quite a while. Several weeks ago, he had been admitted to a hospital in Munich, and the doctors there had told him that he was too weak to get a lung transplant. Franz went into hospice.

I wasn’t surprised when Christa told me that Franz was dead. What did surprise me was the matter-of-fact way that she told me. Christa did not seem upset. She wanted to know where Karin was. I said that Karin was at the doctor. Christa asked me if Karin was okay. I explained that she was fine. Then Christa told me that she would call back later, and she wished me well.

The brief call had been all in German. I stayed with that when I texted Karin. I wrote:

“Christa hat angerufen. Franz ist gestorben.”

Karin Skyped with her sister later in the afternoon. They conversed for a couple hours while I kept Asher busy. Karin hasn’t seen Christa in person for probably twenty years, but they stay in touch.

I have been thinking about Christa’s reaction to Franz’s death. I know that they loved each other dearly. Franz and Christa had come to the U.S. many years ago, and they visited with us. I got to know Franz when they were here. Franz was a good man. He understood English pretty well. He had lived in Ireland for years. He used to read my blog posts and comment on them in German. Christa and Franz met each fairly late in life, and it was clear to me that they were meant to be together.

Christa knew that Franz was dying. She could begin the grieving process while was he was still with her. It was kind of like that when my mother died from Alzheimer’s disease. I had been saying goodbye to my mom for years before she finally left this earth. Christa had been saying goodbye to Franz for a long time already.

That’s in stark contrast to how it felt when my younger brother, Marc, died. Marc was twenty-eight when he was killed in a car wreck. The shock of his death was overwhelming to everyone who knew him. I wasn’t ready for him to die, although I suppose a person is never ready for the death of a loved one. Christa probably wasn’t ready for Franz to go. Or maybe she was.

She had a head start.