Hospice.
The word sounds ominous enough when it’s spoken in reference to an older person, but when it’s used to describe the dying months of a 37 year old woman, they breathe dreadful words to my ears.
I was just informed that one of my all time favorite people, 
Elizabeth Bonwich, or “EEEEEEEEEEEEE BEEEEEEEEEE” as I would call her in my best “Public Address Announcer” voice whenever I greeted her, has been in hospice for the past few months. She’s had (at last count) five different kinds of cancers for nearly 20 years. Cancer robbed her of her ability to walk without a brace and a cane, caused a constant ringing in her ears and in general, gave her lots of reasons to be angry at these injustices.
I would often remark to her, “EB, aren’t there things in this world that we SHOULD be angry at? Like the fact that people go to bed without food or homes, or that evil people often get rewarded for bad behavior, or the fact that people have horrible diseases?”
Elizabeth would sheepishly agree but would also challenge me. “Being angry doesn’t help. But using anger to motivate you to action, that’s another matter entirely.” Elizabeth’s anger also gave her reason to pause and reflect. It never defeated her and she always moved into a more self-reflective place, finding God in the peace of simple pleasures, acting on stage, working for justice and simply laughing with good friends over a meal.
EB was one of our retreat leaders at Busted Halo, back when we still did retreats. She found solace in sharing her story of finding some peace in the midst of tragedy and even of trying to find God in the “dry places of prayer” as she would call them. I invited her to write for Busted Halo from time to time. My favorite reflection that she offered detailed a romp in a school yard playground, a quick go on a tire swing on a crisp winter’s day.
This was the most peace I’ve had in a while. My anxiety began after Thanksgiving and is only now beginning to simmer down. I decided against any vestiges of Christmas this year in my home, feeling overwhelmed by performances and obligations. My walks in the local park had gone by the wayside as well. I used to count on these for times of spiritual revitalization, but haven’t been able to seek them out recently because of a physical disability which leaves me with little energy for long walks in the park. I’ve been telling myself that God is still there and I just can’t see it. But somehow that hasn’t been enough.
Having gained confidence in my swing, I unhinged the brace, bent my knee and snuggled down into the circle of the tire. Looking out west over the expanse of the Hudson River and the brown cliffs of the New Jersey Palisades, I wondered what I must look like—a 30-year-old woman in a long brown coat, swinging in an empty children’s playground, crutches given up on the ground.
I thought about God and the stillness in which God assures us God is present. As I floated in that tire swing I realized that in this stillness and in this reverie, I was letting the Spirit do its work. I realized that the sloth of the spirit may be the action of daily life. The more activities that I pack into my daily life, the more lazy I become in my spiritual life. The more I feel that I have to do, the less I listen for what God wants me to do. But when I listen to the little clues about what step is next to take; my life, my world, and my spirit seem like a better place.
When I last spoke with EB, we talked about a move she made to spend time in Maine. Working with the National Theatre Workshop OF the Handicapped (note: not FOR, but OF). It’s founder, a Jesuit Brother named Rick Curry, who was denied a National Mouthwash Commercial because he lacked a right forearm, gifted Elizabeth (and others with disabilities) with opportunities to perform on stage several times in many different productions. My wife and I attended two such shows in New York and were treated to some great drama and singing on those evenings. I always saw Elizabeth’s smile grow a bit wider after those shows. It gave her dignity when she grew frustrated with her limitations.
Soon God will call her a final time on earth to give up her heart, the last vestige of this broken body that was often enough to carry her weak legs to the Catholic Worker to serve the poor, to retreats to inspire her peers, to the stage to shine in the limelight and to my own heart where she will always hold a special place as a very dear friend and colleague.
Thank you for blessing me with the times we shared, my friend. And since we always left each other laughing, I hope that the church considers naming St. EEEEEEEEE BEEEEEEE the patron of eternal silliness one day.
Prayerful request: Elizabeth’s mother has been caring for her and recently she just lost her sister in an accident as well. She can use a prayer or two if you have a chance.
UPDATE: Elizabeth died on Saturday Dec. 18th in the late evening. Eternal rest grant unto her and let perpetual light shine upon her. May EB’s soul and all the souls of the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen.