She was a tough one, our Mary. Angry at the world. And who wouldn’t be? 50 years old, living among the elderly, dying faster than most of them.

Mary was known as a troublemaker when I came to the residence, and she submitted many complaints during my early days there. I was interested to learn that she had worked in the kitchen at a long-term care facility. In fact, she had just started a really great job at a place nearby when she received her cancer diagnosis. From what I gathered, however, her past manager was quite a tough boss – even the slightest errors were cause for immediate dismissal! I asked Mary who would want to work in a place where they would be fired for putting the wrong fruit in the fruit salad?

I wanted to lead a team of people who felt valued and cared about because that would help them better care for our residents. Sometimes people make mistakes, but I don’t think they intentionally caused her distress. I told Mary I would point out the error and asked that she let me know if it happened again. I reminded her that I welcomed her feedback on any way we could improve because, having worked and lived in a congregate setting, she had a unique perspective. I didn’t tell her I also wanted her to have purpose in her life, but that was the most important part of all.

Things turned around quite a bit after that. There was less hostility, she was supporting the staff and telling me as many of the good things they were doing as bad (don’t worry, I got a good sprinkling of both!). She spent most of her time alone, but the thing that amazed me the most was, no matter how rough things got, no matter how much pain she was in, no matter how hard it was, she got out of that bed every single day. She was stubborn and absolutely refused to “go gentle into that good night”.

Unfortunately, Mary’s cancer grew and her health declined in time. With no significant family ties or friends to speak of, she said she refused hospice care because she wanted to stay with us until the end. We were her people, caregivers who treated her with respect and empathy. And, although we couldn’t make the bad stuff go away, it was obvious we were trying – trying to help, trying to ease her suffering, trying to let her know that she wasn’t all alone in this world. And, to Mary, I think that became a tremendous gift.

In my life and line of work, I have encountered many people nearing the end of their lives, but I have never seen anyone refuse death so steadfastly. I wonder now if she fought as hard to live before? Had she been happy? Did she challenge herself before she faced this ultimate challenge?

I wonder if maybe Mary’s legacy and lasting effect on us might be the inspiration to live. Not to strive for some fantasy of perfection and not to simply exist, just to try. To get up every single day, even in the hardest times. To fight. To live.

R.I.P. Mary. I know you wouldn’t believe me if I could say it to your face, but you are missed.