Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove.
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wand'ring bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me prov'd,
I never writ, nor no man ever lov'd.
Sonnet 116, William Shakespeare
Was I thinking of Jan, as I idly mused in the swing under the apple tree during a visit to Anne Hathaway’s Cottage at Shottery? Hardly, for we had yet to meet, but the Bard’s words came to me in a rush shortly after I laid eyes on this apple-cheeked beauty, the only child of what used to be known as a ‘traditional’ New England marriage. For Jan not only had beauty, but a fine brain to match. A graduate of Vassar, one of the Seven Sisters, it mattered not that I had held high positions in several UK museums, I had to ‘pedal faster’ just to keep up with her!
After Vassar, Jan had chosen a career in broadcasting, including a stint with the 50,000 watt KMOX (she was a contemporary of Jack Buck, Joe’s father). Following a divorce, she returned to Connecticut, where her daughter, Jessica, was born. Eventually, Jan settled down in Wellesley, within a stone’s throw of another of the Seven Sisters, Wellesley College.
When she accepted me into her life, I became the luckiest man alive — don’t even think of disputing this fact with me, please; just take it as gospel. We built a life on shared values, a regard for others, and a devotion towards Jess, her husband, Michael and their wonderful ‘small human’, Luke. She was a rock in the sea of life which surrounded us, and supported all my aviation endeavors, on both sides of the Atlantic. She encouraged me to take a Board position with a UK Registered Charity, and gave sound advice whenever I asked for it (and even, sometimes, when I did not, which is one of the ‘planks’ in a sound marriage).
The illness which took her away from us was shocking in its swiftness. One Sunday she was at home with me, the next day admitted to a cancer ward at the local hospital. It was here that Otteray Scribe and Sockpuppet — my two wonderful friends — and the Community stepped in, with the gift of a magnificent quilt (seen here on her bed in the hospital) and constant support.
Although she was discharged after a week or so, Jan was taken dangerously ill at home shortly afterwards. A dash to the ER by ambulance was followed by life-saving surgery, for the primary cancer had perforated her transverse colon. Her doctors and nurses did everything they could, but a rapid decline set in. Jan fought to ‘come home’, and Jess and I managed to get this done, under the auspices of The Good Shepherd Hospice and their nursing staff. Jan’s pain was managed, and she slipped away just before midnight on Saturday 17th October, in the room in our condo with the balcony view which she loved. Far better this than four sterile, white hospital walls.
Jessica was devastated, as you would expect, and we were both flung into that maelstrom of grief, condolences from strangers, and the endless paperwork which is the lot of those who survive.
My beloved wished to be cremated, and her ashes scattered in her native Connecticut. As it happens, I had recently bought a 1/4lb of American Wildflower seeds (over 20 varieties, including many blue flowers, which she adored) for the balcony planters next Spring. The quantity was far too great, but I wanted the largest number of varieties I could get. Now, these seeds will be mixed with fine loam, and scattered over her ashes, to mark the spot.
There will be one more permanent mark of remembrance, this time in my ‘native land’. My fellow Board Members at The People’s Mosquito — www.peoplesmosquito.org.uk — have informed me that one of the 55 foot long fuselage moulds being used to build the WW2 aircraft will bear the permanent inscription, ‘In Memoriam — Jan Bottone’ .
As for me — my heart has been shattered, and the shards flung to the four corners of the Universe.
Consider Matthew, Chapter 5, Verse 13 (KJV, of course; do try, ‘Proofs of Holy Writ’, Rudyard Kipling www.kiplingsociety.co.uk/...)
“Ye are the salt of the earth: but if the salt have lost his savour, wherewith shall it be salted? it is thenceforth good for nothing, but to be cast out, and to be trodden under foot of men.”
I am moved to tears by the least, most unexpected, thing. I can be conversing, quite calmly, with someone on the telephone and yet feel the tears rolling softly down my cheeks. Sometimes, in the echoing cave which is now our condo, I find myself absent-mindedly starting a sentence, “Jan, did we…...”
The loving kindness of the Community has been immeasurable, and I shall treasure it. This is, however, my last diary.
As the Bard said, “The rest is silence…………….
Love, deep and abiding, be with you all
Ross