Obituary for Sherry Fagerness

Sherry Fagerness passed away peacefully at home on Christmas Eve in the arms of her beloved husband and son.  

Sherry was born in San Diego, California and traveled and lived around the world before settling in Coeur d’Alene, Idaho about 25 years ago.  Her deep spirituality was reflected in each of her relationships. She had a wonderful marriage for 19 years and above all cherished her husband Doug, her son Jes and her extended family and friends. 

Her spiritual life could also been seen in her choice of vocations.  She began her career as an educator and for a period of time was a member of the Episcopal Order of Saint Helena in Vail’s Gate, New York. Most of her life’s work helped children and adults who were deaf or hard of hearing fulfill their intrinsic potential. She worked for the Idaho State School for the Deaf for many years, having a positive impact on hundreds of students and their families.

From her earliest days Sherry possessed an incredible vivacity that imbued her physical, intellectual, and spiritual endeavors. Her garden was glorious, her fresh baked goods sumptuous, her weavings, paintings, and crafts a delight to behold.  Sherry could often be found heading off into the vast wilderness of Idaho with field guide and notebook for adventure, reflection and discovery. Her thirst for knowledge was an unending and unquenchable life’s pursuit. Sherry knew something about almost everything and had the delightful ability to share that knowledge in a gentle and enlightening way. 

Sherry’s family consists of her husband Doug Fagerness, son Jes Fagerness, her mother Edith Walcott and father, Clarence deceased, sister Marie Juncker, her husband Arthur and son Andrew, brother Richard Walcott, sister in-law Cheryll Blair, her husband David Blair and their children Ellen, John, Kathryn, Jay, sister-in-law Marla Morrow, her husband Steve Morrow, cousin Andrea Dixon, her husband Ron Dixon and daughter Aura, cousin Bill McKay, his wife Cathy McKay and children Bill McKay and Kailin, cousin Howard McKay, his wife Sammy McKay and children Kim and Melanie and cousin David, his wife Vicki deceased and daughter Lisa.   

Sherry was a bright, witty and a calming presence to all who knew her. It was her greatest delight to break bread with friends and family and share the bounty of her life with them. We ask all that knew her to honor her memory by sharing a meal, a story, a hug, a warm smile with those you love and hold dear on this amazing journey.

There will be a vigil at St. John the Baptist Antiochian Orthodox Church, 4718 Horsehaven Avenue, in Post Falls beginning at 7:00pm on Tuesday, December 29th, the fifth day of Christmas. Sherry's body will be lying within the nave of the Church temple.  After the Panikida (memorial) is sung Sherry's body will remain for the viewing.  Psalms will be read throughout the nightlong vigil. 

The funeral service will begin at 9:30am on Wednesday, December 30th, and will be followed by a burial service at the Church cemetery.  After participants have had the opportunity to throw a handful of dirt on the lowered casket there will be a Memorial Luncheon to which all who have attended the funeral are invited. 

If you are inclined, instead of flowers whose blooms are beautiful, but short lived, please support the Children's Library in either Post Falls (821 N. Spokane Street, Post Falls, ID  83854-8698), or Coeur d'Alene (702 E. Front Avenue, Coeur d'Alene, ID 83814).  There the wonders of learning will bloom in children's minds to delight them for a lifetime.  Donations made in Sherry's name will support this work, and are congruent with Sherry's profession and passion.   

Longing

I long for my dear wife. I long for her spiritually, emotionally, and physically. I hunger for her. In an attempt to satisfy this hunger I have been devouring our photo albums. We have photos of each other that stretch back to our childhoods. Sherry created extensive albums of her semester in Mexico, her year abroad in Spain, as well as her years in Australia, New Zealand, India, and Fuji. She also kept detailed journals of her life experiences since she was 16 and travelled to Mexico, then to Europe, Australia, Humboldt State, working at the service club, , graduate school in Oklahoma, life at the Convent, working at the state school in Maine, moving to Idaho, carrying through to a couple of weeks beforel she died and was no longer able to write. She asked me to keep the specifics private, and I will steadfastly honor that request. While Sherry has over the years told me many of her stories there is much more. I am becoming more and more aware of the depth and complexity of the woman I was led to marry. I am fascinated by the serpentine paths we took to find each other, and I am most grateful that we did.



I am also struck by the intensity with which Sherry sought God; how she continually sought to know herself better so as to fulfill her ministry, which was for her to discover her unique gifts and then to exercise them fully. “To thine own self be true.” And “Know thyself.” are ancient road signs on the path of life, and Sherry adhered to them adamantly throughout her life. She had many gifts. She exercised many of them through her hands—as a potter, as a weaver, as a seamstress, as an enamellist, as a card and collage maker, as a teacher of art, as a pianist. More gifts were exercised through her intellect and through her heart.


Through photos and journals I could track how our love developed over a 22 year period. Our initial friendship was a time when we delighted each other sharing ideas, poems, essays, films, life experiences, and enjoying the pleasure of being on the same wavelength. At the time I was the supervisor of the Kootenai Head Start Center that was located in the former District Developmental Center off of 7th Street in Coeur d’Alene. Sherry’s office for the Regional Program for the Deaf and Blind was located across the hall from my office. Center staff noticed as our time together increased from casual smiles and greetings to morning coffee and end of the day goodbyes that often extended into the evening. How could staff not notice when we did such things as stand in the rain outside the building talking for an hour and a half after work? Sherry knew before I did that she wanted more from our relationship. Finally, after cross country ski dates, dinners out together, bike rides, concerts, and movies we became romantically involved. We were energized by the wonder of each other, and savored our intensity and joy together. Our love grew. We had our separate houses, but were spending nearly all of our time together in one house or the other. Again, Sherry was more aware that I of where the amazing synchronicity between us could go. We spoke of it and I was thrilled that Sherry actually wanted to marry me.


We married on August 11, 1990. Our wedding photo album reminded me of more details of that wonderful day when we consummated our love with the sacrament of marriage. The album also contained photos of our honeymoon where we backpacked, first up the Queets River to sleep a hundred yards from where a herd of elk was bedded down. We listened to the cows bark to the calves and caught whiffs of the sweet smell of the herd. Then we hiked up the Quinault River into the Enchanted Valley where we were lulled to sleep by river song, and greeted the morning by plunging into the cold river, shouting our shock as we entered this primordial baptismal together. Our last hike was the Lake Ozette trail that snakes through the forest with boardwalks over the marshy places, and then follows the coast line south to pick up the return leg of the triangle. On the rocks by the ocean ancient petro glyphs chronicle marriage and other aspects of Makah life. It is a sacred place.


We returned home to begin a 19 year long adventure. Our relationship continued to grow as we planned together, competed home projects together, gardened together, laughed together, cried together, loved together. We were both amazed at how “better” became “better yet” continually in this rich, playful, and mysterious country of marriage.


The last three months after Sherry was diagnosed on September 16th accelerated our growth at a dizzy rate. Knowing the prognosis of the glioblastoma diagnosis stripped any pretext to bare authenticity. We got to spend more time together than we ever had, and we filled that precious time. I knew clearly that I was where I was supposed to be, and there was no place I would have rather been.  As Sherry’s capacity to perform various tasks decreased I was honored to help her perform them. We found our pleasures as we could. Hot showers were sheer bliss.  Between stints in the hospital we took them every other day.  After transferring Sherry to the chair in the shower I would get in with her. First I would lather up the bath poof with Dr. Bronner’s lavender soap, scrub her back with slow, gentle rubs, and then hand her the poof to wash what she could reach. Then I would generously squirt pools of baby shampoo into my hand and massage Sherry’s head with it. She loved to have her head rubbed so shampooing took a long time even after most of Sherry’s hair had fallen out from radiation treatments. When finished I took the hand-held shower head off its bracket and rinsed Sherry’s head and her back, then handed it to her to complete the rinsing. Finally, I hung the hand-held back up, increased the water temperature and directed the water from the overhead shower head onto Sherry. She swayed slowly side to side on the shower chair, basking in the steamy, sensuous hot water. When she said, “ Enough,” I turned off the shower, opened the shower door, and helped transfer her to a towel to sit on, folded over the closed commode seat. To do this she put her arms around my neck and I put my arms around her under her arms. She stood and we lingered in the shared wet warmth as we shuffled in a slow dance to the seat. After she was seated I handed her a thick bath towel, and moved her hair dryer, brush, and lotions within her reach.  


After Sherry returned from the hospital for the last time she couldn’t get out of bed, so we did bed baths three times a week with the capable assistance of the Hospice CNA. Our pleasures were soon transformed to feeding Sherry my sister’s applesauce with a teaspoon. I was ready to spoon the sweet bites she loved into her eager mouth. She would smile, look up at me, and say, “Thank you.” I melted in joy and enchantment.


My love grew deeper and deeper, driven by the service I was privileged to provide. I cherish this affection and devotion each for the other. Sufficient was holding her hand and assuring her of my promise to never leave her alone in the world.


So, Sherry seemed always to be ahead of me in her awareness of how our love grew out of a strong friendship, through engagement, to the strength of the commitment of marriage while we continued to celebrate this sacrament in our daily lives as one flesh. Now she dies before me, again leading the way. I cannot yet join her and my flesh is torn apart.


In anguish I long for her. I want to talk with her: to question, to learn, to reflect, to deepen. I want to hold her, comfort her, and touch her face as we allow our bodies, hearts, and souls to remember each other again and again and again. Such is my grief.

Arrangements

I completed arrangements at the funeral home today and went out to the cemetery to pick out Sherry's gravesite.  The east wind was brutal and I was inadequately dressed to keep the cold from pentrating.  The wind did serve as a distraction from the somber task of choosing where my beloved will be buried. 


There will be a vigil at St. John the Baptist Antiochian Orthodox Church, 4718 Horsehaven Avenue, in Post Falls beginning at 7:00pm on Tuesday, December 29th, the fifth day of Christmas. Sherry's body will be lying within the nave of the Church temple.  After the Panikida (memorial) is sung Sherry's body will remain for the viewing.  Psalms will be read throughout the nightlong vigil. 

The funeral service will begin at 9:30am on Wednesday, December 30th, and will be followed by a burial service at the Church cemetery.  After participants have had the opportunity to throw a handful of dirt on the lowered casket there will be a Memorial Luncheon to which all who have attended the funeral are invited. 

If you are inclined, instead of flowers whose blooms are beautiful, but short lived, please support the Children's Library in either Post Falls (821 N. Spokane Street, Post Falls, ID  83854-8698), or Coeur d'Alene (702 E. Front Avenue, Coeur d'Alene, ID 83814).  There the wonders of learning will bloom in children's minds to delight them for a lifetime.  Donations made in Sherry's name will support this work, and are congruent with Sherry's profession and passion.   

Christmas Day in the Morning

It is a fine line between a pattern and a rut. Waking at 4:00am has become a habitual pattern, tilting toward becoming a rut. Mostly because I was too tired to clear off the bed, I slept in the recliner next to the now empty hospital bed. It is the sheer emptiness of it all that haunts me.

Yesterday evening, seeing Sherry's body leave the sanctity of our home and its intimate familiarity was wrenching. It's not that the funeral home workers weren't caring, sensitive, and gentle. It was that I was giving Sherry up to be cared for by institutional others, and the nature of that care being an unknown to me. Jes and I were businesslike and efficient in filling out the inevitable forms. We watched Sherry transfered from bed to gurney, then rolled down the ramp, out through the garage, and into the open doors of the hearse. The hearse drove slowly away, taillights turning its exhaust red.  Jes and I turned, walked inside, and held each other up as our bodies convulsed sobs, long and deep. Our loved one had departed in spirit and in body.

Jes returns to Boston on an early flight this morning. He has been here three generous weeks. He couldn't have picked a time more suited to meeting my and Sherry's needs. The value of his presence is inestimable. Now he returns to his Kae, his home, his work, his community. I am proud of his accomplishments. His compassion, kindness, and love serve our tired world well.


I will get out of the house today; outside where my sprit can soar, the ever-present blue dome overhead and the frozen Earth crunching beneath my feet as I take my first steps in gratitude toward the rest of my life.

Sleep in Heavenly Peace

Sherry has died.  She is restored from the ravages of cancer to our memories eternal.  She died this afternoon.  Our foreheads were pressed together, my right arm across her chest holding her left shoulder, Jes holding her right hand with his arm around me.  She was at peace.  Christy, our dear Hospice nurse, and I washed Sherry and dressed her in a regal purple jumper, a complementary purple turtle neck, and, of course, her Birkenstocks.  Her head is resting on the prayer pillow she received from Head Start staff.  Her face emanates peace and contenances a subtle, Mona Lisa smile. 

I am profoundly grateful for being able to participate in this intimate journey with Sherry to the end of her life.  I have come to understand that death is as miraculous a life experience as is birth.  When Sherry died I was in the embrace of my son whose birth experience I also intimately shared.  I was taken by the emotional and spiritual similarities. 

The finality is fresh.  I could not prepare despite my efforts to imagine.  My grief is a deep, dark hole with fragile edges that break off, tumbling into the abyss whenever I approach it to peer into the void.  I hear the fragments tumble, like scree from a talus slope.  I cannot hear them reach the bottom.  I know that the edges will firm, like bark edging over a scar on a newly pruned apple tree. I hope I will be able to dance around the edges, and that the abyss will  be filled with my gratitude as I reflect on what I have received.  I mourn the loss of a deep love, and deep love will heal my grief.  That will take time. 


The present makes new demands.  I have chosen a redwood coffin in which to rest my beloved.  I thought for a long tme.  She may have preferred the simpler pine, but the image of her being enclosed by the wood of the ancient giants triumphed.  I also know that she loved the strong shelter, and the filtered light dappling the soft, fragrant, forest floor under the redwood canopy.  So, today I went red instead of green.


To fulfill her wishes, Sherry will be buried in the St. John Orthodox cemetery on the church grounds in Post Falls.  I will go to pick the gravesite.  Her body will rest in the church for a vigil with members of the congregation reading Psalms over her all night long.  Her funeral will be in the morning.  Which morning will depend on how connections can be made during Christmas week end.  I will post this information on my blog as soon as it is established. 

All Through the Night

Sherry sleeps. Her breathing regular, her body warm, smooth and electric to my touch. She is cradled in loving kindness near and far. Her communication is subtle, non verbal--the raise of an eyebrow or the welling of a slight tear in the corner of her eyes as she is moved. My tears mixed with hers as I read to her cards and letters I had retrieved from the mailbox. She is comfortable and peaceful, preparing to leave this world,  spending more and more time in the threshold to the next. I regret that she cannot tell me more.


I am cradled, too. I am held up by dearly beloved through the strands of Silent Night sung outside our door, through the accappella harmonies of the St John Orthodox choir, through the strings of ethereal harp that connect with my heart and tie our hearts together.


I wait without trepidation. I reject the caricature of faceless death, cloaked in black, and heaving an ominous scythe. Rather, I see light, beckoning bright, inviting and white, returning to vanquish the long dark night. Now is sacred time.

The Path We Are On...

The last four times Sherry has been awake have been stolen by pain. I think it is primarily abdominal pain caused by gas and the slowing down of intestinal activity, though Sherry agonizes over her shoulder, her chest, her abdomen, her chest. It could also be blood clots, a cardiac event, the tumors sending erratic signals, or who knows what else. With Hospice help we have been able to increase Sherry's comfort. The price is that when Sherry is medicated she sleeps. Her forehead is smooth, indicating the absence of pain, and her head is tilted back, her mouth is open. The figures in Picasso's Guernica, mouths open in terror, invade my mind's eye. While Sherry is comfortable, I feel the horror. The root of it is my helplessness. I can tend to her desperate desire for water when she awakens to a parched mouth. I can feed small bites of applesauce and spoon tips of her favorite yoghurt into her willing mouth. When doing this I can also see that her ability to swallow is diminished. She holds water and the small bits of soft, smooth food in her mouth working up to a swallow. A substantial part of the trouble with this is that her ability to take medication is compromised. So, her medications are prioritized. The steroids to control the edema surrounding the tumors are first. Then the seizure medication and so on. Even with these priorities I wasn't able to complete her medication schedule yesterday. Sherry was determined to take the pills, and she did all that she could. To push beyond that would have risked choking. The pain and the sleep rob communication, mugging the opportunities for quiet, intimate connection. I hope for a balance where the pain is controlled, the cause eliminated, and connection elevated beyond reactive custodial response.

The path appears to be narrowing to pain and anxiety relieving medications that are liquids, more easily administered. It is a path through forest floor cushioned by deep resilient duff. It climbs above the timberline to vast meadows where the wind is easily felt but hardly seen. As it approaches the ridgeline leading to the peaks it becomes faint, obscured by wispy clouds as it scrambles to the top.

Jes told me yesterday, his arms wrapped around me, that this was his best Christmas ever. I re-live the grief as I write, and recall with gratitude his strong, supportive arms. I understand what he was saying. I agree. It is a Christmas, as is every Christmas, about unfathomable, inexhaustible, renewable, durable love...