Parting from loved ones now more trying

The coronavirus pandemic has made it more difficult to say farewell to loved ones as they die or to celebrate their lives after death. Although the outbreak has been very limited so far in the Quoddy area, local residents are being challenged by and feeling the emotional toll that comes from being separated from family members who are passing on, some from COVID-19. They also are feeling the absence of being able to mourn in the company of family and friends to remember those who have died.

‘A desperate loss’
Rosalie Woodward of Lubec relates that her older sister Helen Currier, who is 94 and at an assisted living facility in Williamsport, Md., tested positive for COVID-19 on April 20, the second case at the facility. She was tested after they had checked her temperature and noticed it was elevated.
On April 25, Woodward's niece Susan went to see her mother for one last visit, having to put on a mask, gloves and a protective suit. She called Woodward on her cell phone, so the two sisters could have a brief conversation. "When I spoke to her I said, 'I love you,' and she did, too." Woodward cantors at local churches, and her niece suggested they sing "In the Garden," which they did -- "...and the joy we share as we tarry there, none other has ever known." Woodward relates, "It brought a smile to her face  and then she went back to sleeping." Her sister was then in hospice care, given morphine every two hours and stopped eating and drinking. She passed away on May 3.
"We've been close all my life," says Woodward, fondly recalling times with her sister. "I was really lucky to have a good sister. We always got along, except when I was 5 and got into her make-up," she relates. "I used to spend all summer with her in Maryland." She pauses. "There's only the two of us. It's a big loss to me. I won't be able to be with her any more."
Woodward's last visit with her sister was three years ago, and if it were not for the pandemic she could have travelled down to see her one last time. "It's a desperate loss," she says, tearing up. "It's so confining -- this disease."
Being able to speak with her sister by cell phone, though, was "a real blessing," but she notes that it's not the same as being there in person. Her niece was able to stroke her mother's head and hold her hand, but she was not able to go back to the facility as "it's too dangerous, where it's so contagious."
Her sister's husband has already died, and a funeral home is keeping his ashes. Helen will now be cremated, and the ashes of the two will be mixed together. They will later be buried in a cemetery in Brockton, Mass., where her husband's family lives. "I probably can go there then. But now, there's nothing, just waiting for that opportunity."
The inability to be with family at this time makes the grieving process harder. "I'm close with my nephew and two nieces in the Maryland area, but I can't go to see them until I can travel safely." Then she adds with a laugh, "My son won't allow me now to go to the Polar Treat to get an ice cream, so I'm not going to be able to get onto a plane."
She relates that the other night she dreamed she was giving a hug to "a small person," probably her granddaughter, and then she was afraid that someone might have seen her, since she knew it was "illegal" to hug her.
However, she observes that when "something terrible happens," there's some good that comes, too. She believes the pandemic "has made people more empathetic and connected." Whether one is rich or poor, people "are drawn together with this common tragedy."

A passing of the baton
Jonathan Aretakis of Pembroke relates that his uncle Aggie -- Agammennon -- passed away at age 94 at a hospice center in New York City on April 26. The World War II veteran had become sick with presumptive COVID-19 at a nursing home where he had been for three months. After being taken to a hospital, he could not return to the nursing home. He was transferred to a hospice center, "where he died alone. Really sad for the family," Aretakis observes.
Aggie's wife Terry and son Alex "weren't able to visit him for six weeks, something he couldn't understand," as he had Alzheimer's disease. His wife could speak with him on the phone when a nurse was available, and Aretakis doesn't know if he died alone or whether a nurse was present. "He died ingloriously, really," says Aretakis, with no family present. He says the inability to be at his side was hard on his aunt and cousin.
"He's the last of the eight siblings to pass," says Aretakis. "It's a real passing of a baton." His uncle Aggie was a Marine in the Battle of Okinawa, serving alongside Aretakis' father George and two other brothers. That battle saw the greatest loss of American life of any U.S. Marine engagement in history, Aretakis notes. "The brothers were really scared, they told me, but they did their duty." Meanwhile another brother was sailing toward Iwo Jima for the invasion there, and another was fighting with General Patton's mechanized army in Europe. Proud of their service, Aretakis observes that the six brothers were "a distinguished bunch of siblings with a unique story." Some time ago, a U.S. Marine Corps commandant suggested to his uncle Artie at an Iwo Jima remembrance ceremony in New York that the five Marine siblings in the Pacific may have been the most brothers from a single family serving in combat simultaneously in U.S. Marine Corps history.
"He was an extremely positive person," Aretakis says of his uncle Aggie, adding, "That generation that witnessed so much horror in war, at an older age they had a certain joy of life, an appreciation for life."
Aretakis also notes that his uncle was "the spokesman for family values." He passed on the importance of those values to the following generations in "a kind, loving and generous way." Knowing that family was critical to him makes how his uncle died, without any family present, "harder for all of us." But while members of the family are sad, they are not blaming anyone. "These places are overwhelmed," Aretakis says of the hospitals and healthcare facilities in New York City. The dying process and celebration of Aggie's life, though, have "all been upended by this terrible pandemic."
"It's a real tragedy for the family. He can't be immediately buried," says Aretakis, noting that approval has been granted for his uncle to be buried in the national veterans cemetery on Long Island. He believes it will be more than a week before burial is possible, and he doesn't know if any family can be present.
His cousin Alex, though, has been "very good at being in touch" with the 16 cousins. A memorial will be held next year, if one can't be observed this year. Aretakis notes that it has been very difficult for the family, and in particular his uncle Aggie's granddaughter Isabella, who was very close to him.
With the passing of the last of the siblings, there's "no funeral, no color guard, no family." Aretakis observes that his uncle now is not being allowed "the dignity of a proper memorial for a life well lived and service to his family and country. We all knew this -- but we didn't have a chance to express it publicly."
Missing the ritual to share gratitude
That inability to gather with family and friends to remember a person's life has been hard on many, including those who were close to Joyce Weber of Eastport, who passed away on April 8.
Fellow artist Elizabeth Ostrander relates that Joyce and her husband Paul Weber came to Eastport in 1983, when the city "was down on its luck" and the brunt of jokes about holding an "Empty Building Festival." After meeting with other artists, Joyce told them, "Let's open a gallery," Ostrander recalls. The Eastport Gallery was formed in 1985, moving at one point into the downtown's former Mincton building, which needed a lot of work. With concerts starting to be held, movies being shown and plays being performed, Weber then helped to start the Eastport Arts Center. "She was a mover and shaker," remembers Ostrander. "When she got an idea in her head, she just went with it. She was a force."
"She was very determined to bring the arts to Eastport, and she changed Eastport completely." The arts are now a central part of the city, which had previously had a rough edge, Ostrander observes. "She had a vision and made it happen."
Of the inability of people to gather to celebrate Weber's life, Ostrander says, "I think it's quite horrible." The Eastport Arts Center did post "a lovely online tribute," and the Eastport Gallery is hoping to coordinate a show in the fall of works by both Weber and Dominic Noe, another gallery member who recently passed away.
However, Ostrander notes with some sadness that those who knew Weber are left with "an unresolved feeling. We haven't had the ritual of coming together and talking about a person and being able to hug people and talk with them about that loss. We can't come together and cry with one another, to remember her and to be grateful for her. It makes you feel incomplete in coming to terms with that reality. We know that it's happened, but it's an abstraction."
"It's necessary for being Homo sapiens to comfort one another and to talk about somebody and speak about someone who brought the arts to Eastport," she says passionately, adding, "Now Eastport is an artist community, and she was the one who made that possible."
Of the absence of face-to-face contact, Ostrander observes, "We're all longing for that. It's a completion, to say goodbye and share our gratitude for what she brought to Eastport. It gives us a sense of reality -- having that experience."
When the pandemic does eventually subside, people will then once again be able to gather and remember and mourn the lives of those they hold dear -- standing face to face, giving hugs, laughing and grieving together.