Linda and the "C" Word

The Memory Keepers by Michelle

Linda photographed on October 17th, 2015 at The Hess Collection in Napa, California.
The last really great, happy, carefree day I spent with my sister.

 "The greatest gift our parents ever gave us was each other." ~Unknown

Let me start by stating that my family doesn't get cancer. Or so I thought. My tribe mostly die from strokes and heart attacks, but not the dreaded cancer in any of its myriad of forms. This stupid misconception, this false sense of security that my family is somehow magically immune to cancer was unceremoniously dispatched in September 2015 when my sister Linda called to give me the horrid news that she had found a lump in her breast. When? Not recently, but six months prior in March. I was incredulous. For siblings who may go months between conversations this lack of disclosure may have been less of a surprise, but I spoke over the phone with my sister nearly every day. In addition, we frequently shared texts and emails.
   By now we all know and understand that early detection and prompt treatment are the keys to a successful recovery from any ailment. Why, oh why had Linda kept this health crisis a secret? The answer was simple. She did not want to pursue a cure through allopathic medicine. As a trained herbalist, Linda believed in the efficacy of naturopathic treatments. Linda thought she could heal herself, and that it was incumbent upon her to do so. If Linda did not share the fear inducing news of discovering a lump in her breast with her sisters, her son, or her parents, then she could proceed as she wished without conflict, without having to answer difficult questions, or justify her reasoning process to the people in this world who cared about her the most.
   As Linda had anticipated, as soon as she shared the news with Juliette and me, we began asking the tough questions. Her answers were unsatisfactory and left us wanting. We learned that Linda did not receive a diagnosis from a medical doctor. It was a chiropractor whom had confirmed Linda's worst fears. Juliette and I were dumbfounded. One does not go to a chiropractor to diagnose or treat cancer. Furthermore, it might not be cancer. The tumor could be benign or a cyst or something else. For all our efforts, we could not reason with Linda. Juliette and I could not fathom why Linda steadfastly refused to make an appointment with a board certified medical doctor. Didn't Linda want to investigate all the available treatment options and understand the corresponding pros and cons? No, she did not. Linda had set a course for herself and much to our chagrin she rigidly stayed on that course until her actions nearly took her life in the second week of February 2016.

Linda photographed in 1977 by Danny Townsend in Tulsa, Oklahoma.

   Linda started her self-prescribed treatment plan by taking multitudes of supplements. When the breast gradually got worse she consulted the chiropractor in early September. The chiropractor advised that Linda better change things drastically in her life if she wanted to live. On September 18th, Linda completely overhauled her diet. Linda began drinking fresh green juice every morning and left behind coffee, refined sugar, all grain, vegetable oils, pork, eggs and any processed foods (essentially the Gwyneth Paltrow diet). Linda was enamored with Dr. Budwig's anti-cancer diet plan that included a lot of flax oil mixed with cottage cheese and she could enjoy the occasional glass of wine, or preferably champagne.
   Between September and December Linda lost over 50 pounds. In December alone she took off more than 15 pounds. Linda continued to use supplements of all kinds and she tried a variety of treatments including DMSO, black seed oil, MSM, maple syrup and baking soda, turkey tail mushrooms, cannabis oil and at least 15 other things. Nothing worked.
   In November due to pain and restricted breathing, Linda believed that the cancer had metastasized to her ribs, back bones and lungs. All her life, Linda's Achilles's heel were her lungs. Problems associated with asthma increased. Not wanting to let her teammates down, Linda continued to work full-time during the hectic holiday season at Whole Foods Market, but it became increasingly difficult for her to do so. The asthma caused more fatigue and exercising became more difficult. She was in pain. And yet she persisted, holding fast to her decision to self-treat. Juliette was especially vigilant in arguing the case for Linda to seek medical help. Linda dug in and got angry that Juliette wasn't being supportive.

The Beaumont Sisters with our mother and Linda's identical twin boys, Jordan and Joshua (circa 1979). We're standing in front of our dad's cement mixer - it must have been a joke,
because there were much prettier places around the house to gather for a family portrait.
Left to Right: Juliette, Maria, Jordan, Mom, Michelle, Linda and Joshua.

   A couple of days before Christmas Linda finally made an appointment with a Naturopathic Doctor who had a special interest in oncology. Linda abandoned the Budwig diet in December due to an increasing aversion to dairy products and congestion. The N.D. agreed that Linda needed to eliminate all dairy from her diet, even products made from goat's milk. To Linda's surprise, because he is an N.D., he thought that she might need a mastectomy. To his credit, he immediately referred her to a surgeon at UCSF, but the first available appointment was not until early February. The N.D. also ordered a large panel of blood tests and a Thermogram to confirm that she had breast cancer.
   In the meantime, the N.D. recommended that Linda read Radical Remission a book that details other types of treatment based on research that the author completed with hundreds of people who survived cancer, and it delves into the nine top things that the survivors did to heal themselves. Linda also started biomagnetic therapy with a practitioner in Santa Rosa, California who purportedly had very good success treating cancer patients with paired magnets.
   Linda also sought the help from her long-time acupuncturist. When the elderly Chinese man saw Linda's breast he exclaimed that he could not help her, that she should go see a doctor immediately. Post-haste. Oh boy was Linda angry. How dare he suggest such a thing. We held our tongues and rolled our eyes. Except for Juliette, who told Linda, to once again, get a frickin' clue.

The Beaumont sisters circa 1967.
Front: Linda and Michelle
Back: Juliette and Maria

   Finally, in late December, two days after Christmas Linda threw in the proverbial towel and went on medical leave. Linda felt less guilty over the decision because she pushed through with sheer will power to make it through Christmas Day. And while the next few days would still be busy in Whole Foods stores through New Year's Eve, the worst of the holiday season was over.
   A few days later, on our dad's birthday, Linda sent an email to our extended family disclosing that she had breast cancer. Happy birthday to you, Paul. That's not even passive-aggressive, it's just aggressive. Dad said it was the second worst piece of news that he's received in his life. The first being when he learned that my sister Maria had died suddenly from a brain aneurysm. Linda once again stated her position in the email that she was a believer in natural medicine and that she had decided many years ago that she would not have breast amputation, radiation or chemotherapy. I have learned to omit the word "never" from my vocabulary. Because once you say the words "I will never do...__________", it is highly likely that you surely will do it.

Linda in the fall of 2013 while visiting Monterey, California.
Photograph by Mark Glasser. 

   In January, Linda limited her diet even further by following the Cantin Ketogenic Diet. She continued energy work with the magnet lady and started Vitamin C drips in the N.D.'s office. She integrated the Ketogenic regimen with the Gerson Protocol for Cancer diet, which mostly consisted of a lot of juicing and little else.
   In early January Linda wasn't convinced that she needed to retain the appointment with the surgeon at UCSF because she felt like she was improving. Regardless, we all urged her to keep the appointment, reiterating that receiving a proper diagnosis was of utmost importance. Thankfully, she did not cancel. By the end of January Linda was feeling weak and shaky and wondering if she needed to be hospitalized.
   The day before Linda went to UCSF she shared her thoughts in an email, "I have felt strongly compelled to see if my body couldn't heal with just supporting my immune system with diet, supplements and the other things that I have tried. Now I know that it cannot, and I will need to rely on conventional medicine."

On Juliette's wedding day in 1992. There ceremony took place in Bisbee, Arizona.
Juliette was pregnant with her oldest daughter, Avalon.
From Left to Right: Michelle, Juliette, Mom, Dad and Linda

   The medical staff at UCSF were outright shocked by Linda's condition. It is rare for a triage team to meet a new patient with such an advanced progression of the disease. The final diagnosis was bad news. Linda had stage IV breast cancer metastasized to the bones and lungs. Sure enough, so many months before, Linda had correctly self-diagnosed herself. The doctors concluded that Linda was treatable, but not curable. The breast was not operable. The disease had progressed too far. They could perhaps give her a couple good years. The doctors said that everyone responds differently to treatment, so all they can do is set a course of action and measure the results. In other words, they try something and see if it works. We'd hear this refrain again and again over the course of the next year.
   On February 9th Juliette and I flew to California to be with Linda and to help provide assistance to Linda's partner, Mark. Linda's son drove to Petaluma to also lend his helping hands. As a team we would assist Linda with her treatments and form a plan to provide for her short-term and long-term care.
   Linda was in and out of the hospital over the next couple of weeks. Juliette and I braced ourselves for the worst. We understood that Linda was at a critical intersection between life and death. Juliette and I saw Linda's malfigured breast for the first time during a medical examination. The doctor gave us the choice to leave but we declined the offer. Once we saw the disfigured breast, we would never be able to unsee it. No wonder the chiropractor and the N.D. said she had breast cancer. We could have diagnosed it too.

What my face wanted to look like
every time I saw Linda's breast tumor.

   We marveled that Linda could look at her breast in the mirror and think for one second that she could heal herself with a new diet, some supplements, acupuncture and a pair of magnets. To make a horrible situation even worse, Linda almost over-dosed on aspirin, of all things. Before being admitted to UCSF, aspirin was all Linda had in her arsenal to combat pain and she simply took too many. The medical team went to Defcon 1 when they discovered that Linda's blood was too alkaline and the staff had to urgently correct the pH balance of her blood.
   The doctors started prescribing lots of drugs: long term morphine, short term pain morphine, anti-depressants, anti-anxiety, anti-nausea, steroids, laxatives (to counteract the effects of the opiates), and other meds. We kept a daily scorecard of the pills Linda took and when they were administered. The specialty equipment arrived: an oxygen condenser for the house, oxygen tanks for the car, a wheelchair, a walker, a commode, and a shower chair. As Linda said at one point, quoting the Talking Heads while lying in a hospital bed, "This ain't no party, this ain't no disco."
   Then there were the countless hours spent driving between Petaluma and San Francisco. Linda was chauffeured back and forth for chemo treatments, thoracentesis to drain the lungs, MRIs, CT Scans, a PICC line insertion until the port placement, among other things. Getting Linda in and out of the car and into the house or into the hospital took a minimum of two people. The two steps outside Linda's front door leading to the driveway became the bane of our existence. She'd either have to be spotted and guided with a walker or the guys would put her in a wheelchair and carry her over the threshold and over the steps. The smallest things become the biggest obstacles.

   After resisting traditional medical treatment for so long (to avoid angry patriarchal doctors that lived to chop her breasts off - her words, not mine), Linda was shocked, and perhaps a little overwhelmed, and maybe a smidge sheepish to encounter the compassionate care provided to her from the staff at UCSF. Interestingly, the team treating Linda was almost completely comprised of females. Linda's oncologist in California was Dr. Melanie Majure. To this day we refer to Dr. Majure as "the unicorn" because she is a magical being. We all loved her, especially Linda.
   Within a few weeks of our arrival at Linda and Mark's house, it became apparent to Mark, Juliette, Jordan and me that Linda would need long term care and that staying in California was not sustainable. This is an excerpt of an email that I wrote to my parents on February 14th:

"Overall Linda is doing much better than when Juliette and I arrived. However, "better" is a relative term. Linda is having trouble moving, although she is standing and walking (with difficulty), slowly and with the help of a cane and the grabbing of furniture and door handles as she moves through the house from the living room to her bedroom and bathroom. She is still on oxygen 24 hours a day. She is managing pain with a regimented routine of morphine and oxycodone. She's a little hard of hearing. She doesn't always remember what she's said or what somebody else has said to her. However, she feels well enough to micro manage the house's occupants. "Do this", Do that", "Get this", "Make this", "Toss this", "Rub this", etc. And if the demand isn't met lickety-split then there is hell to pay. If a demand slips from her mouth, it's got to be done now. As in right this moment, even if it is a non-urgent matter. We're all collectively taking a deep breath and hope that the chemo works really fast to get her to a much better, less demanding place. We've got to figure out long term care for Linda because it is taking a village at this time to take care of her and not one of us has the choice of not working. We've all got responsibilities of our own and we have bills and mortgages to pay. Juliette and I cannot relocate to California. Jordan has some time before he need to return home for fire season. Mark can only take a 2 to 3 month leave and he'll be stretched too thin on his own with no back-up if she doesn't make quick progress. The hope is that the chemo will enable Linda to become self-sufficient without the need for round the clock care. The medical staff seem to think that we'll have a good idea within three to four weeks of how the chemo is reacting in Linda's body.
   If Linda will need to continue to receive round the clock care, the only conclusion that we've been able to reach after looking at the situation from all angles is that Linda must move to Tucson. We don't know how resistant she will be to the proposal. We need to gather more information to verify that a move is possible. We need to investigate her insurance plans, both medical and disability, to understand if there are any issues if she were to relocate. But before we can do anything, Linda needs to get stronger and stabilize. So, we haven't broached the subject yet, even though it is the elephant in the room. We're hoping to have that conversation with Linda before Juliette and I return to Arizona. Logistically it will be a big pain in the ass to pack and move Linda. That will take a village too. And if she's still being Ms. Bossy Pants at that stage in the game then one of us (or more) will surely lose our minds."

   After a couple of weeks Juliette and I returned to Arizona. As the world turns, our mother was experiencing health issues and needed assistance. In the words of Murphy's Law, "What can go wrong will go wrong." Juliette moved in with my mother and began attending to her needs. Juliette is still with her today. I returned to California to help Mark.

Portrait of Linda taken March 2016 in her home in Petaluma, California.
We thought this styling channeled her inner Imperator Furiosa.

   The long and the short of it is that Linda did relocate and it indeed took a village of friends and family to get her packed up and moved to my house in Tucson. One doctor said we couldn't go, that Linda could easily die during transit. A few folks said we shouldn't. I hate these words: couldn't, wouldn't, shouldn't. Caught between a rock and a hard place, we did what we had to do. We knew this for sure: Linda's life in Northern California was not sustainable.
   Thankfully we had the support of Linda's oncologist. Dr. Majure advised that we avoid planes so we made plans to drive. Dr. Majure promised that she would do everything in her power to help us relocate and that she would strengthen Linda as much as she could for the journey ahead. The doctor was a true blessing in a time of great need. All the while I steadfastly hoped that the 1,000 mile road trip would not look like a conjoining of the films Weekend at Bernie's and Little Miss Sunshine.

The Beaumont sisters in Lompoc, California circa 1970. Photograph taken by Paul Beaumont.
Left to Right: Cheyenne, Juliette, Michelle, Maria and Linda.

   My daughter, Maddie flew out for spring break and we began packing Linda's belongings the first week of March. Friends packed boxes and cleared the pantry. Another plant-loving friend accepted the generous gift of Linda's well cared for potted plants and trees. Jordan and his friends rented the largest moving truck available, loaded his mother's belongings and drove to Tucson in one straight shot, about fifteen hours of driving time.
   My husband and I caravanned in two heavily laden vehicles, Linda's car and a rented van. We departed Linda's house on the last Monday in March and nine hours later we stopped for a two-day layover in La Quinta. We stayed with our dear family friends in a beautiful house situated on a golf course in a gated community. It was a blessing because we all needed time to recuperate. While Linda napped, Jay and I spent hours in the courtyard soaking up the mild sun. Between continuing to work full time, assisting with Linda's care, and packing the house on nights and weekends, it was the first time in months that I sat and did absolutely nothing. I reveled in the nothingness.

Linda at the Taos Pueblo in August 2016.

   The wife of our host, and my mother's best friend, was a victim of breast cancer. He and his partner, a lovely woman whose husband had passed away several years ago, treated us with kindness, while also not shying away from openly discussing the brevity of our situation. His observation was that chemotherapy takes the patient to the brink of death. And that the path back to health is a slow and arduous climb. As individuals they were no strangers to sadness and grief and yet they have forged ahead and found happiness together. We enjoyed hearing about their travels and their shared interests. He played the piano for us and together they prepared our meals, made margaritas and poured wine. God bless the caregivers.
   We arrived in Tucson on a late Thursday afternoon after a smooth drive through the desert. Linda's son, Jordan and his two buddies arrived with the moving truck and moved some of Linda's things into the house and the remainder into a large rented storage locker. Linda had her first appointment with her new Oncologist five days later. As promised, the unicorn helped to facilitate the transfer of care and all went smoothly, much to everyone's relief. I patted myself on the back that Operation Relocate Linda was a success. Upon arriving in Tucson Linda was quickly set-up with a course of ten radiation treatments to treat the metastasis to the bones.

A sisters portrait gone completely wrong. Go ahead laugh. It's okay.

   The good news was that the chemotherapy knocked the virgin cancer cells for a loop. By early May, Linda's tumor marker score was cut in half. We finally learned how to heal the bed sores that had for months plagued her and me (since I had to assist with treating them). One of the things I never imagined for myself is that I'd have to apply medication and bandages to the insides of my sister's butt cheeks, but there we were doing just that. The medication wasn't going to apply itself.
   The physician at the wound clinic said that Linda could cure the sores if she consumed a minimum of 90 grams of protein a day. It was as simple as that. We were relieved and frustrated at the same time. Why hadn't anyone with a degree in medicine mentioned this before? Within two weeks of a dietary regimen that included supplementing with Vital Proteins Collagen Peptides in addition to Jay Robb Egg White Protein Powder, the awful sores were healed. We always felt as if we were learning everything the hard way, no matter how many questions we asked or how much research we did on the internet.
   With a physical therapist's assistance, Linda started taking short walks outside with the aid of a rolling walker. By early June all the home care providers had discharged Linda. And while Linda still used supplemental oxygen in the house, particularly at night, she no longer required it when we ventured away from home. We felt so free not having to drag an oxygen canister around with us wherever we went. By early July Linda had weened herself completely off morphine and was able to lift her camera again to take photographs, a lifelong passion.

Selfie of me and Linda celebrating my birthday in June 2016.

   In June Linda started pestering me about driving. I was hesitant about the idea and shared my thoughts with my dad in an email:

   "For the last two weeks or so, Linda's broached the subject of driving her car again. I wasn't too excited by the idea. Linda trotted out rebuttals, such as "it will make your life easier", and my favorite: "I won't be driving that far". To which I replied, "Most accidents happen within a five mile radius of home." Granted she has been steadily improving, both physically and cognitively. She's almost completely off the heavy drugs, and what she takes, she takes at night to help her sleep. Linda is certainly more alert, but is she alert enough? I trotted out another rebuttal, "What about getting the walker in and out of the car?" In an act of defiance, she did just that. She went and pulled the walker out of the trunk unfolded it, and the folded it and put it back in the trunk. 
   We chatted with the doctor today about the subject. The doctor said she was fine with it as long as Linda isn't driving at night while on any meds. The doctor recommended that somebody drive with Linda a couple of times to see how she does. Linda was not too excited by this idea because, as she pointed out, I've never been a fan of her driving ability. True that. We'll give it a go and see how she does. Granted, driving in Tucson is not driving in San Francisco. Everything Linda initially wants to do is within a few miles of the house. Linda even suggested that we take a night class together at the Pima College Extension Campus that is just down the street. Even if I didn't attend with her, she could certainly drive herself there and back."

   To help rehabilitate her hands (the chemo gave Linda peripheral neuropathy of the hands, in particular her left hand), she decided to take up knitting. Linda ordered a kit online that contained the yarn, special knitting needles, a pattern and access to online videos that showed how to do the project step-by-step. In the hottest part of the summer, Linda began working on a beautiful, thick red scarf that she said was for me. We'd jokingly say that she was knitting an heirloom. And, that I'd need to go to Antarctica to use it. If I didn't see her work on the project during the day, I'd say, "Get to work on my heirloom. Winter is coming." Everyone loves a little Game of Thrones humor. Now that she was feeling much better and it seemed that she had perhaps years, and not months to live, we'd say in good humor that she now had time to knit everyone in the family an heirloom.

Linda and I took a road trip to New Mexico, the land of enchantment, in August 2016.  

   In August Linda and I took a spur of the moment road trip to Santa Fe to visit the Indian Market. We three sisters and our mother, and now our daughters, all have a deep appreciation for turquoise jewelry. (And clothes made from velvet, but that's another story.) Juliette wanted to go with us, of course she did, but decided that it was pertinent to stay with our mother and attend to her needs.  
   Linda and I splurged and stayed at La Fonda on the Plaza so that we'd have easy access to the room in case Linda got tired and would need a nap. After the Indian Market ended on Sunday, we drove further north and a little east to make a pilgrimage to the famous Santuario de Chimayo. We rubbed the holy dirt on our foreheads and said prayers for Linda's health. We drove further north and stayed two nights in Taos at the gorgeous El Monte Sagrado Living Resort and Spa. We visited the Taos Pueblo, the Millicent Rogers Museum (a kindred spirit, for sure) and wandered around the Nicolai Fechin House and garden. Linda's appetite had fully returned and throughout the trip we ate delicious New Mexico cuisine made with Hatch green chiles.

Linda and I made a pilgrimage to the Santuario de Chimayo in New Mexico. 

   By September Linda was strong enough to garden. This was a big deal. Everywhere she has lived, Linda has always made her little corner of the world a more beautiful place by planting a garden. Occasionally in the ground, but mostly in containers. Linda drove herself to local nurseries and selected a variety of flowering plants, vegetables and herbs. Along with the plants, she'd return with pots and potting soil. Wearing a sundress and a straw hat, with gloves on her hands, she'd go about confidently planting her new purchases.
   Linda invited birds to the yard by installing a large bird bath and multiple bird feeders. From her seat at the dining room table, she loved watching the goldfinches, house finches, doves, hummingbirds and the birds of prey — owls, hawks and kestrels. A pair of male and female cardinals made rare appearances in the yard, which made spotting them an exciting event.
   The day before the road trip began Linda found out that she had a brain tumor. She did not have any outward signs, but the doctor called in a steroid that we had to pick up on our way out of town. Linda was to take the steroid in the event of headache or dizziness. Linda's tumor marker had been increasing but her CT scans looked good. The oncologist thought it wise to take a look at her brain and an MRI was scheduled. Of course, having breast cancer metastasize to the brain is really bad news. We didn't let the news damper our enthusiasm for the trip. After our return from New Mexico, in mid-September Linda received stereotactic radiosurgery, a radiation treatment, to eliminate the tumor. It's a fairly straightforward, fast procedure that is done in an outpatient center.

Linda's container garden in Tucson that she tended with love and care.
"Sisters are different flowers from the same garden." ~Unknown 

   We moved into the rhythms of the holidays. Linda declined to attend the All Souls Procession in downtown Tucson with Juliette and me, and Juliette's daughter, Sonora. Although Linda previously adored Día de los Muertos celebrations, she was now prickly about all things related to death. She said that Juliette and I would be too if we were staring death in the face. Juliette and I reminded Linda that no one is getting out alive, that we all have the same fate. Linda angrily said she was closer to death than we were. To quote the film, Gladiator, "I knew a man once who said, "Death smiles at us all. All a man can do is smile back." And that's what we did. We went to the Procession and Linda stayed home.
   I hosted Thanksgiving and we prepared a ginormous 26 pound turkey and all of Linda's favorite side dishes. At Christmas, we made sure to buy a tall gorgeous tree, a Nordmann Fir from Oregon. I pulled out all the old family ornaments, including some bedazzled heart shaped ornaments that Linda had sewn in her twenties. Linda and I took our time decorating the tree together and enjoyed reminiscing about Christmas's past. Linda's son came to visit. My daughter was home from college. Two of three of Juliette's children and her grandchildren were with us. Linda made sure that we all posed for family photos on Christmas day. I'm glad that she insisted. Based upon how she was feeling Linda mused that it would be a miracle if she lived to see next Christmas. All I could think to say was that I believed in miracles.

Thanksgiving Day 2016 with, left to right, Michelle, Maddie, Linda and Juliette. 

   One need not be a doctor to determine that the prescribed oral chemotherapy was no longer working. In retrospect, we're not sure that any of the oral treatments worked. In January, Linda's oncologist recommended starting a course of intravenous chemotherapy to battle the cancer that was actively blooming again. This news took the wind out of Linda's sails. She all too clearly remembered how ill the first round of chemotherapy made her feel. The stigma of a bald head. The insistent nausea. She described most foods as tasting like metal in her mouth. The oncologist assured Linda that the side effects with this new chemotherapy would be less severe. Linda should not lose her hair and food should continue to taste good.
   Unfortunately in March more brain tumors were discovered via a routine MRI and stereotactic radiosurgery followed by mid-month. Chemotherapy typically does not cross the blood brain barrier. Therefore the only treatment for tumors in the brain is radiation. The radiation oncologist thought the best treatment option was whole brain radiation, but the oncologist instead recommended targeted radiation to save the whole brain radiation as an option for later. Whole brain radiation can be performed only once and no other radiation treatments can be received afterwards. It's a one shot deal.
   My observation is that the radiation procedure was difficult for Linda both mentally and physically. Her uncomfortable state was compounded by the fact that she was having a lot of trouble with her lungs. Breathing took effort. A lot of effort. The cancer was clogging the pleural cavity that resides between the lungs and the wall of the chest. Linda once again had to have a procedure called thoracentesis, whereby excess fluid is removed by inserting a needle into the chest. The doctor recommended inserting a catheter into the chest so the lungs could be drained daily at home. Linda declined, concerned about the potential for infection. Linda was back on oxygen full time and she was disappointed that after working so hard to get off morphine, she was back to taking it consistently to manage pain and shortness of breath.

Linda photographed at Tohono Chul in Tucson, Arizona in December 2016.

   Linda passed away two weeks later. The week before she had been diagnosed with pneumonia and anemia. She began taking an antibiotic to fight the lung infection and received a blood transfusion to give her a much needed boost of red blood cells. Neither treatment seemed to make a significant difference. Linda continued fighting but she was flanked on all sides by the ever nimble, ever growing cancer.
   Three days before her death Linda made the difficult choice to stop treatment and transfer to palliative care with hospice. The oncologist said that Linda perhaps had upwards of two months to live. To the contrary, once Linda made that choice, she opted for a quick exit. She metaphorically flipped the switch and the decline was steep and swift. Everyone was taken by surprise at how quickly—within 72 hours —Linda transitioned from this life to that great unknown; whatever it is that is next.

Linda, circa 1959.

   I cannot even begin to describe how difficult it is to bear witness to a loved one, in particular my beloved sister, succumb slowly to cancer. It's a nasty, nasty disease. She fought a valiant fight and was courageous to the end. Cancer tried to take her dignity, it failed in that regard.
   Even though it is a futile exercise, I cannot help but wonder if Linda had immediately pursued medical treatment after discovering the tumor in her breast, if she'd now be living a full and productive life. I saw so many women independently receiving treatments at the infusion centers in San Francisco and Tucson, and then walking out, car keys in hand, to go about the routines of their normal lives. Surviving cancer is all about quick and decisive action to seek a cure.

Juliette, Linda, Michelle and Maria at Surf Beach circa 1968.
Photograph by our father, Paul Beaumont

   The moral to this story is to be your own best advocate for protecting your health. An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure. Visit your doctor for an annual wellness check. Both women and men should perform routine breast exams. Men develop breast cancer, too. Women: get a mammogram. Even better, if you can afford it, get a thermogram. Never heard of it? Not a big surprise. A thermogram will one day replace mammograms, but insurance companies currently only cover the costs of mammograms. On a side note, you can request a CT scan on your heart to learn if there is any calcification that could lead to a heart attack. Has your doctor ever suggested one? Probably not, but out of pocket it only costs about $85.00 and you'll have a much better understanding of your risks for heart attack.
   And one more piece of advice, if you will indulge me the opportunity. Actively choose to be happy. Don't like your job? Find another. Don't like where you are living? Move. We tell ourselves stories that keep us trapped and stop us from pursing what we really want. As my mentor says, everything is "figuroutable". Decide and then take action. It may take a while to get from "here" to "there". That's okay. Be consistent. Slow and steady wins the race.

The three graces enjoying Sistercation in Northern California in October 2012.
Photograph by Mark Glasser.  

   Recently I met a breast cancer survivor who worked with an N.D. while she was receiving chemotherapy. She scheduled routine Vitamin C drips and supplemented her diet with a plethora of vitamins and herbal remedies. She attributes her recovery to chemotherapy and radiation, but feels strongly that she benefited from the supplements and herbal remedies that complemented her treatments. The old saying comes to mind, and it comes to me in my father's voice. "You don't bring a knife to a gun fight."
   Linda made her choices and then had to abide by the outcomes. There are no do-overs. She said she had no regrets. In my opinion, that's just stubbornness talking. After Linda passed away at Casa de la Luz hospice, I returned to my house followed by her son, Jordan and ex-husband, Danny. We stayed up into the wee morning hours, having a wake of sorts, drinking Jameson's Irish whiskey on the rocks while we talked and reminisced. I was lamenting the fact that Linda did not seek treatment earlier, even though everyone kept urging her to do so, especially Juliette who took the brunt of Linda's wrath for not supporting her alternative treatment plan. Danny's reply resonated deep within me. He said, "Linda's passion overwhelmed reason because her passion was so committed." Truer words have never been said.
   Linda and I were about as close as two sisters could be. We were two little peas in a pod. We sounded alike, dressed alike, and shared the same sense of humor. I hope you rest in peace, Linda. We shall meet again. I loved you resolutely and completely in this lifetime, and I will continue to do so until the end of time.

"A loyal sister is worth a thousand friends." ~Unknown

Michelle, Juliette and Linda enjoying Sistercation in Bisbee, Arizona in September 2013.
Photograph by Fernando Serrano.

Retro-Style: Elsie and Charlie — A Love Story and Grandma Elsie's Baked Beans

The Memory Keepers by Linda

"If a story is not about the hearer, he [or she] will not listen... A great and lasting story is about everyone or it will not last. The strange and foreign is not interesting—only the deeply personal and familiar."  — John Steinbeck, East of Eden

Our Grandma Elsie was famous in Yucaipa, California for her
cooking—especially her summer backyard barbecues.

   This time of year always prompts me to think of one of my favorite childhood memories of summer. Among those memories are the backyard barbecues that were hosted by my paternal grandparents, Elsie and Charlie—they were legend. In the photo above, it appears that Grandma Elsie is grilling chickens on a rotisserie under a large sycamore tree in the backyard, and as a matter of pride for me, our grandma was the 'griller' in the household at a time when it was usually the man of the house who commanded the grill. I consider her early example the reason that I have always had an interest in grilling, and have become adept at it, because I never thought anything was strange about it.

Many hours of baking in a slow oven turn these beans a beautiful and rich brown.

   One of my favorite things that Grandma Elsie always made for these occasions was her famous baked bean dish that was made rich with pieces of salt pork and then intensely flavored by being cooked all day with molasses, brown sugar and other spices. Grandma's beans would bake all day in the oven in their small kitchen on Bryant Street in Yucaipa, California, and then just before dinner time, she would bring the heavy Dutch oven outside and set it on the top of the grill in the photo above, where the caramelized mass of legumes would stay piping hot until dinner was served.

Our Grandma Elsie as a young girl circa 1917 on the left, and her matchmaker sister, 
Florence, is on the far right. Their younger brother, Robert, is in the middle.

Left to Right: Sisters—Elsie and Florence circa 1922.

   This post is a perfect example of what our blog is about at the core. When I sat down to write about my dad's mother, although I have vivid memories of her, I came up short with solid details about where she was born, or how she and Grandpa Charlie met, and so on. I wrote to my dad for the answers, so that our family will have the details when they come looking for information. Hopefully those of you who follow we Salvation Sisters will find Elsie's story interesting, too, since all of you, no doubt, have similar stories in each of your own families. Here are the details of our grandma's birth, and her fateful chance encounter with our Grandpa Charlie, the dashing "older man" according to our father, Paul:

   "Elsie was born on December 8, 1907 in Los Angeles. The way my mom and dad met is an interesting story. Dad had an automotive electrical repair shop in Long Beach in the 1922—1924 time period. His only employee was Robert Ballenger, whom you all knew as Uncle Bob. He was to become the husband of my mom’s sister, Florence. Anyway, in the early 1920s, the Signal Hill oil boom was in full swing. Signal Hill was not all that far from my dad's business. One day, there was an oil fire on Signal Hill, and Bob wanted to make a cheap date out of going to the location to watch the fire-fighting effort. Bob wanted Charlie to go, too, but Charlie would have been the odd man out as Florence was going with Bob. So, my Aunt Florence had a solution—she would bring her kid sister, Elsie, along so Charlie would have a date, too. Elsie couldn’t have been more than 15 or 16 at the time, and my dad would have been seven years older—a mature 22 or 23.  Of course, we now know that Charlie and Elsie really hit it off, but they had to wait until Elsie turned 18 to get married. They were married on the second day following her 18th birthday in December of 1925."

Charlie and Elsie—a love story.

We feel so fortunate to have these photos of Grandma and Grandpa
together when they were young and in love.

Grandpa Charlie and Grandma Elsie as I remember them best.

   So I just discovered that if it hadn't been for the chance meeting of Elsie and Charlie on a blind date ninety-something years ago, we Salvation Sisters would never have been born. My grandparents were married for nearly sixty years, and were the parents of three boys (two of whom survived into adulthood), grandparents of nine and there are 19 great-grandchildren.

Our paternal great-grandfather, Miner R. Smith—artist and builder
of houses that would last a hundred years and more. His wife and the
mother of our Grandma Elsie, Elizabeth, is on the right.

   As a point of interest, our Grandma Elsie's father has become well-known posthumously, as a builder of vintage Craftsman Bungalows in the Long Beach area. His name was Miner Smith, and he even has a Facebook page dedicated to him and his beautifully-built houses that have interesting architectural and masonry details. They are highly prized by their current owners. Find out more about our great-grandfather and see photos of the houses he built in Long Beach, California by clicking here. Thanks to fellow blogger, Steffie Hands of Bungalow Girl for the interesting article and photo.

The Smith Family — our Great Grandfather, Miner, and our Grandma Elsie.

Our first cousin, Larry (on the right), sitting on the steps of one of Miner's
bungalows in Long Beach, California.

Linda's Slow Baked Beans—An Update on Grandma Elsie's

   As much as I loved Grandma Elsie's baked beans, the exact recipe has been lost to time. When I asked our mother, Dianne, to look for the recipe, and asked why she didn't make them at our house, she said that grandma's recipe had so much sugar, that she was reluctant to make them. She also couldn't find the recipe. This is a version of baked beans that I love, and I like to make when I have a day at home to let the beans cook slowly in the oven in my beautiful red Le Creuset enamel pot. They taste like Grandma Elsie's baked beans. If you have only had baked beans out of a can, you will find that these beans are completely different in taste and texture. They are well worth the time and effort involved in making them.

Equipment:
A large enamel cast iron dutch oven or heavy pot for baking

I cut the thickly sliced salt pork into cubes and then boil them to remove some of the excess salt.

Ingredients:
1 pound dried white beans such as Great Northern or Navy
1/4 pound salt pork, diced and boiled for 15 minutes or 1/4 pound good quality bacon chopped and browned with fat drained off
1 tsp. dried mustard
1/2 cup full-flavored molasses, not Blackstrap unless you like a very intense molasses flavor
1/2 cup coconut sugar
2 Tbsps grated fresh ginger
1/2 onion pierced with 2 whole cloves
2 cloves of garlic, smashed
sprinkle of red pepper flakes—optional
2 Tbsps dark rum
Freshly ground black pepper
1/2 cup raw honey for drizzle if desired

Procedure:
Soak the beans overnight. When ready to cook the beans, preheat oven to 275 degrees. The beans will need 5 to 6 hours in a slow oven. You can use a crockpot if desired and cook on low for eight hours. The first steps are the same however.

1. Add the half and onion to the bean pot and bring the beans to a boil. Simmer on low for 45 minutes to an hour. Drain and reserve the liquid.

2. Add the rest of the ingredients to the pot with enough of the reserved liquid to cover the beans. The beans do not need extra salt. The salt pork adds enough salt to the mixture during the lengthy cooking.

3. Place the beans in the preheated oven and cook for roughly six hours, stirring every hour and adding liquid if the beans get too dry.
4. Allow beans to cook with the lid off in the oven during the last forty-five minutes of baking. They will get a lovely crust on the top. Drizzle with honey after they are removed from the oven if desired.

Elsie and Charlie at the right end of the top row.

Memorial Day — Shooting Star

by Linda

"Whenever I meet with our Gold Star families, like I did this morning, I hear their pride through their tears, as they flip through old photos and run their fingers over shiny medals. I see that their hearts are still broken, and yet still full of love. They do not ask for awards or honors. They do not ask for special treatment. They are unfailingly humble. In the face of unspeakable loss, they represent the best of who we are." — President Obama ~ May 2015

Joshua T.—United States Army Special Forces—12-03-1978 to 01-16-2009
Operation Enduring Freedom

   Included in this post is a letter that I wrote about my son Joshua six years ago. As you may or may not know, in January of 2009 Joshua died when he was serving with the Special Forces of the United States Army on his second deployment in Afghanistan. The letter that I wrote includes a beautiful and inspirational letter to me from my friend, Cindi, who wrote to me while I was staying in Solvang with our family—waiting for Joshua's body to be sent back from Afghanistan. The process took the better part of two weeks culminating in his military funeral which was a terrible ordeal for the whole family. I end my letter with a description and revelation that I had during a trip to the doctor. I had some serious health issues right after Josh died. Months later I would discover that my illness was brought about from the grief and stress I experienced from the trauma of his death. It has taken me six long years to be ready to publish my letter, and my purpose and hope in sharing it this Memorial Day, is that by making it available to all—it might help someone who is suffering from a traumatic loss. Especially the loss of a child.

April 17, 2009

Dearest Family and Friends,

   My friend, Cindi, is a veteran and we worked together for several years. She recently wrote me a most insightful and eloquent letter just after Joshua's death in response to one that I sent to her. The background is that Cindi's beautiful 21-year-old daughter was killed in an accident while riding on the back of her boyfriend's motorcycle. She was thrown from the bike and she died on impact. It will be three years this June since the devastating crash. Vanessa's death hit me so very hard. Joshua had just been deployed again to Afghanistan, and the one thing in life that I was sure that I could never deal with was the death of either of my children. I cried for weeks over Vanessa's death, and she wasn't even my own child—but somehow she symbolized my child, and I loved her mother. Cindi was the example that I wanted to emulate if anything like this should ever happen to me, God forbid. Cindi is a beautiful person inside and out, and she seemed to me like a flower with an oak growing inside of her—delicate but so strong. After Vanessa's death, Cindi unimaginably still glowed from within, and she loved to talk about her beautiful girl, even though the tears would inevitably start flowing when she spoke of her.

   When we received the devastating news about Joshua, I wrote her a letter in the first week looking for solace. I was reeling. In return, she sent me this letter in response to my reaching out to her just a few days later.

Saturday, January 24, 2009

Hi Linda,
You have been on my mind constantly and even when I dream. I don't know when the memorial for your son is or when you will get back in town, but I wanted to send you my thoughts as soon as possible.  Thank you for the loving words you sent my way. I feel so honored that you would think of me during a time like this and draw strength from my experience. I remember drawing strength from your experience you shared with me about your sister as well. I would like you to know that I am honored by your son's life and sacrifice to our country. I take my freedom less for granted today because of him.  I have never known anyone personally who died in a war, so this brings the war so much closer to my doorstep. 

   We are all grieving with you over your loss, for I know it is without boundaries. I realized after Vanessa went to her new life that I would look at life and after-life totally different than I used to. Somehow she opened up a new portal to me. I know we are only separated by mere vision and dimension and that as fast as life is, we will be together again soon.  I know without a doubt that the only thing we take from this life to the next is love, and so death is not an end, in fact I don't even call it that anymore. Our beloved children are in the arms of love right now and are happier than we can ever imagine. It is so important to let yourself grieve as often and as deeply as you need to. I find I need to cry my eyes out often and go all the way down with my sorrow. Then I start thinking about how happy Vanessa is and that she is still with me. I was told by several authorities on the subject that she is actually near me and protecting me and caring for me from the other side. I really believe this. I only can pick up myself by holding onto this perspective. 

   I realize more than ever how very temporarily we are here and Vanessa has taught me to live each day with all my heart, never neglecting an opportunity to love those in my path. The most important thing to avoid is regrets right now.  Joshua would only want you to know he understands everything from where he is and doesn't want anyone to feel bad about anything. Regrets and guilt can plague your transition into acceptance and peace. I have watched everyone in my family go through this and it really made them suffer twice as much. I have seen grief bring up other underlying sorrows that people were carrying. Sometimes it was hard to get everyone to just focus on Vanessa. But I know this is a very personal journey—and believe me— Joshua will help you go through it. He will come to you in many little ways and let you know he's near. I only wish I could have known him. 

   I hope sometime you can show me pictures and tell me all about him. He will always be there cheering you on to your finish line, Linda. He will give you courage to face all the obstacles in your path and help you live better than you ever did before. We are so blessed to have such wonderful children, if only for a short time.  Love you—and hope to see you soon. 
Love always, Cindi

Joshua in Fort Bragg, North Carolina on the day he won his green beret.

   When I received Cindi's letter I was so very deep in the pit of grief I couldn't even conceive of how Joshua might "speak to me", but just a few short weeks later, I found myself in the doctor's office one afternoon just after Joshua's death, feeling like I was going to collapse. I thought to myself, "Why am I so sick? God, this has truly has been an awful year and it's only just beginning!" Honestly, I was in the frame of mind that I didn't really care if I died, but Michelle would have none of my protestations and forced me to go to the doctor from afar. So it was while waiting for the doctor and feeling very sorry for myself that I heard Joshua's voice in my ear, "Self-pity is for losers, Mom". I stared harshly at Winnie the Pooh and Piglet on the wall (evidently I have been put in the "nursery") and I was feeling annoyed by the Disney motif. Just then, the nurse named Jenny came into the room and announces to me that she needs me to change to another room. I feel grateful for that at least. As I seat myself in the new room on the weird little examining table with the crinkly paper under me, I am intrigued by a beautiful photo on the wall to my left. The photo is of oaks and of beautiful wildflowers that look vaguely like cyclamen. I think to myself that it looks like home, but I am so far from home... how could it possibly be? I keep looking at the photo—it is a numbered print, and the title of the photograph is scrawled in a beautiful but tiny script which I can't read. 

Joshua—12-03-1978 to 01-16-2009—SSG US Army, Operation Enduring Freedom—
Photo courtesy of the Santa Barbara News-Press.

   One of Joshua's very favorite places in the world is Figueroa Mountain in the Santa Ynez Valley where I took them as boys. He loved to go there with his dog, Walker, and his friends, and he camped there often when he was old enough. We have always loved the place as long as I can remember. I can visualize like it was yesterday, driving with Jordan and Joshua in the first week that we got our very first new car—ever! The boys were about five and our life before that day was a series of clunkers—which means breaking down at any time. We did not have a reliable vehicle with which to go to the mountains. Our brand new car was a blue hatchback Honda Civic, and I belted the boys in the back seat, and we took off for the mountain. We drove up the winding road, and we stopped at the summit, where I let the boys play. We collected a bagful of pine cones before we headed home. I remember posing the boys in a huge bunch of yellow lupines for a photo before heading back home down the dusty dirt road.

Linda with Jordan and Joshua on Figueroa Mountain in the
Santa Ynez Valley. Photo courtesy of Ron Levy.

   When Joshua died, instead of going with my family to the beach on the day before his service, I drove up to Figueroa Mountain. I stopped all along the way to collect plants for a bouquet for his coffin. He was buried with oak, pine, mistletoe, white sage, mountain laurel, Toyon berry and a nice fat chunk of serpentine rock that I collected that day from the mountain as I paid homage to the sacred plants and my son who loved them and that beautiful mountain.

Josh and his dog, Walker, who was a wolf-hybrid.

   Meanwhile back at the doctor's office, as I sit, I am straining to read the script on the bottom of the photo, and even with my glasses on I have to lean closer and squint to try and read what is written at the bottom. I don't want to get up as I am covered from the waist down with one of those flimsy paper drapes.

"He will always be there cheering you on to your
finish line, Linda. He will give you courage
to face all the obstacles in your path and help you live
better than you ever did before."

   As I strain to read the words on the bottom of the photo, they gradually come into focus. I read:

"Shooting Stars, Figueroa Mountain, Santa Barbara, County— California"

   Tears welled up in my eyes, but I realized in a sudden flash of soul-piercing truth, that this was the message that I had been seeking from Joshua. He was indeed a shooting star who was part of that mountain. I knew in that instant that somehow I would find the strength inside myself to heal, and with the love of my family and friends I would manage to keep on keeping on. 

   And I have, and we have, and you can, too.

You belong among the wildflowers

You belong somewhere close to me

Far away from your trouble and worry

You belong somewhere you feel free

                —Tom Petty, Wildflowers

Linda and her son, Joshua in October of 2005. This was photographed on the pier in Cayucos, CA.