My mother-in-law took her last breath a week ago today, Reader.

And although I had something very different planned for today’s newsletter — I mean, I am writing this on a train from Paris to Bordeaux! — I want to tell you about her.

Virginia would be the first to tell you that she lived an incredible life. Or at least most of her 93.5 years were full of adventure, excitement and exuberance. She loved to laugh; more of a joyous giggle, really. She loved parties and getting together with friends. Honestly, she had a good time nearly everywhere she went.

She was a die-hard fan of her Kansas State Wildcats, and loved watching them play football and basketball. She’d hoot and holler, and move her arms back and forth while swinging her hips side to side as a sort of celebratory dance every time they scored. “Every man a wildcat!” And when they were playing their in-state rival, “Rock ‘em, sock ‘em, beat KU.”

Virginia was adventurous. While in college, she boarded a train to work at a horse camp in Estes Park, Colorado, for the summer. Then, a couple years later, she slipped on a skirt, packed a suitcase, and boarded another train from Kansas to Caldwell, Idaho, to interview for a teaching job. She was offered the job on the spot, and lived the rest of her life in Idaho. Both were bold moves for a Kansas farm girl. Especially in the 1950s.

She met Roger at a Friday dance at the Elks Lodge. He was taken by her charm, and she fancied him a good conversationalist. They married soon after. As far as Virginia was concerned, it didn’t matter where they lived, so long as the kitchen was large enough for the white double-oven range that she’d bought for herself. That range is still operational in their Parma home.

She taught Home-Ec at Parma High School for many years. Her students learned to sew and mend clothing, and bake her famous family-recipe butter rolls. She kept track of so many students after they graduated, genuinely interested in what they were doing with their lives. She and Roger even attended Mike’s 20-year class reunion to catch up with her former students. (Ironically, Mike was in Chicago for a Cubs game, and missed his own reunion.)

Virginia was an identical twin. I don’t know whether Virginia or Dottie was born first, but I can tell you that the doctor remarked during the delivery, “By Jove! There’s two of them!” I know, because she enthusiastically recounted that story over and over again, delighting in it every time she told it.

Dottie was Virginia’s first and very best friend. Together, they rode Peggy, a pony, to school in rural Kansas. They roomed together at K-State, both majoring in Education, and pledging a local sorority. They stood beside each other when each said “I do” to their respective husbands. They shared a secret language (Virginia described my bridesmaids dresses as “fuffish,” meaning muted and multicolored in twin-speak), used the same color Clairol hair dye to maintain their chestnut brown hair, and sent each other the same sweater from the Land’s End catalog for Christmas. More than once.

Dottie remains in good health and sound mind. Just days before Virginia passed, Dottie mused to Mike about how twins share “sparkles” — small moments of knowing — even when they are physically separated by miles and miles. She professed that there hadn't been many sparkles recently. And when she learned that Virginia had finally passed on, she sadly realized that she’d lost “a whole half of herself” that day.

In the end, I don’t know whether Virginia knew that Mike was her son. She did, however, recognize that he was safe. She searched for him in a room. She deferred to him to give her the right answers to questions. If he was ordering a Reuben sandwich for lunch, she ordered a Reuben sandwich for lunch. She would remark that Mike was “like a shirt with a pocket on it.” She meant that he was handy to have around, there when you needed him, and steady enough to hold all of it.

After Roger and Virginia moved to memory care, Virginia called and invited Mike over for a “toddy for the body” most nights of the week. They’d share a couple sips of red wine out of plastic dixie cups. Sometimes, she’d have a couple pours. Other times, one small cup was enough. Really, it was never about the amount of wine they drank together. She just wanted to spend time with Mike.

Over the last six or seven months, the calls from Virginia became less and less frequent. Eventually, they stopped completely. Cell phones can be confusing when you can’t remember which buttons to push.

Virginia and I visited the library every couple weeks to pick out a couple books for her to read. Until it became clear that she wasn’t reading much because she couldn’t retrain what she’d read. At that point, we chose a new picture book about horses so she could look at the “pretty horses.” After each library visit, we’d stop for an ice cream cone. She always ordered mint chocolate chip on a cake cone. And after the last bite of cone, she’d wipe the corners of her mouth with a napkin and exclaim, “That was good! It’s been years since I’ve had an ice cream cone!” Every single time.

Watching dementia overtake a loved one is interesting and heartbreaking, all at once. In the early stages, it’s forgotten names or mixed up dates. As the disease progresses, it’s an inability to carry a conversation, and complete thoughts vanishing mid-sentence.

The later stages are the saddest. When a mother not only forgets the names of her sons, but that she ever had sons to begin with. When she has no memory of her 64-year marriage or the husband who proceeded her in death by almost two years, to the day. (1 years, 359 days, to be exact.) When at least twenty-three hours a day are spent curled up in bed, deeply asleep.

There is something so special about watching your husband care for his parents. He was always available for his father, but he was particularly tender in caring for his mother. It’s like you know you married a good human, but after watching him the last couple years, there’s an unspoken reassurance — a knowing — that he’d be there to take care of you, too, when you needed it. Almost like he really meant it when he vowed that “in sickness and in health” stuff. (Admittedly, I probably need to step up my game in that department!)

In the end, Virginia, — who lived her life so full of life — would not have wanted to live the way she was living. When she’d sleep all day. Eat very little. Not able to carry a conversation. Not able to recognize her family or friends who visited her. Not able to remember anything about her wonderful life.

I know it sounds cliché to say that her passing was a blessing…but it really was. As bittersweet as it is for those she left behind, the Virginia we all knew and loved has been gone a long time.

I usually try to end these letters with a coaching moment. I don’t know that I have anything profound to add at this point. Maybe it’s a simple as live like Virginia. Delight in everything. Be adventurous. Take some risks. Laugh with your whole self. Drink the red wine. Enjoy every ice cream cone like it's the first one you've had in years. 💛

xx, Laurie

P.S. We'll be back to our regularly scheduled programming next week, when I'll update you on all things France!

P.P.S. A couple notes about the links below. First, I've removed the order button for the Best Life Planner...for now. It will be live again the week before I return to the US. Second, I've updated my calendar availability for coaching discovery calls and clarity calls with my current schedule. Grab a time that works for you, and let's get something on the calendar. If you have questions about availability, let me know.