San Antonio Express-News (Sunday)
My aunt asked me to write her eulogy. This is probably more than she had in mind.
In the Book of Matthew, Jesus said to his disciples: “Then the King will say to those on his right, ‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.”
My Aunt, Debbie Cavazos Kay, who asked me to write this eulogy, provided each of these opportunities, countless times. Some of us helped her, some of us did not. We struggled to understand her struggles with mental health, substance abuse and homelessness. Many times, we judged and blamed her.
I was surprised that she chose me to write her eulogy. How could she trust me after all the times I was so angry with her?
By the time she died Sept. 12, just a couple months shy of her 52nd birthday, after a long decline in hospice care at my mom’s house, I was begging God to take her. Please, God! Spare her from more suffering.
In the days before her death, she asked about her funeral: What will I wear? How will I find Mom and Dad in heaven? Who will my pallbearers be?
I asked her what she wanted me to include in her eulogy. She paused, then, with a couple of tears in her eyes, said: “Tell everyone I loved them. Tell my sisters — your mom and Mary — everyone, that I said, ‘Thank you for everything.’ ”
Everything. It’s a heavy word when I consider how much my mom and aunt did for her over the years. Many helped Debbie occasionally, but it was her sisters on whom she could depend.
She also said she wanted everyone to know I was her favorite niece. I laughed because I knew she would have said that to every one of her nieces. That was her way. She wanted people to know they were loved. She was friendly and big on hugs and kisses — right on the lips — and compliments. She asked for members of the family who didn’t come around. And so-and-so? How are they doing? Tell them I said hi. Give them a kiss for me.
Unapologetic, she savored food and fun and love. Years ago, she would babysit my brother, sister and me, and let us watch videos our parents forbade us to watch. I laugh at the memory of when I had no Halloween costume and she dressed me as a prostitute using copious Aqua
Net hairspray and red lipstick.
Each of my family members has special memories of Debbie, and if we think hard about them, we will see she taught us about what’s most important in life. For me, it’s to see helping others as a blessing and to enjoy life, to not be so quick to judge. She reminded me about keeping loved ones first. And to always have faith.
My aunt Debbie’s life began with challenges, which her choices multiplied. Just about everyone in the family felt frustration, anger and helplessness. There were occasional glimmers of hope — sometimes she would want to get help, but it never stuck. My mom and my aunt would rescue her from the street, purchase new clothing and hygiene items, take her to see medical doctors and mental health professionals. Yet she would eventually leave.
Debbie was larger than life and quickly made friends and boyfriends. Stubborn, she would chart her own precarious course.
Even as her health faltered, she chose to sleep on the streets, in shelters, in a tent in someone’s backyard, or a home with no running water, electricity or floors.
All of us gave up on Aunt Debbie at some point. We had our own lives to live, our own challenges to navigate, and she could be so difficult. She was selfish to a fault. But was it her fault? Could she have changed the course of her life? Could any of us have done anything different? These are questions we will all live with.
Much of her life was difficult — her brain functioned much like a child’s. She faced learning disabilities, mental health struggles, homelessness, drug addiction and severe health problems. When she was a kid, she once lied to her teacher and classmates, telling them her mom had died. She stole from family members and lied.
She had open-heart surgery at 39. She had five strokes, and her kidneys gave out soon after. Did any of it stop her from making wildly unhealthy decisions? No. A diabetic since the age of 16, she binged on candy, drank soft drinks, smoked cigarettes, and abused street and prescription drugs.
She always wanted to be a mom. She sometimes pretended to be pregnant, even allowing people to give her baby showers. She was pregnant twice — one baby died, and one baby, a boy, lived. That was a miracle, given her health.
But she was an unfit mother and was forced to sign away her parental rights. That baby boy was adopted, and, today, he is happy and well cared for. Thank God. One day, he will learn his mother’s story, and when he does, he will understand how, despite her many flaws, she loved him but couldn’t be the mom he needed.
Despite all these struggles, and the pain, Debbie gave our family opportunities to show compassion and love, even when it felt
impossible. She always needed help, even if she didn’t accept it. Once, she was imprisoned for forging a check for a couple hundred dollars.
When she was homeless, our family was afraid of her turning up dead. On more than one occasion, my mom and aunt spoke to police officers to ask if a body that had been found was Debbie.
She didn’t die alone on the street. Thank God.
For a year and a half, she lived in a nursing home. She mostly hated it, but her health was deteriorating, and it was not physically possible for my mom or aunt to provide care. Throughout the pandemic, the nursing home was periodically closed to visitors. When it closed again for the delta variant, Debbie decided to stop dialysis. She had enough of no visitors. She was sick of dialysis. Sick of the exhaustion. And she had started to suffer seizures during treatments. Did she know this decision would kill her? She did. Despite countless attempts by many to convince her to continue dialysis, she chose to die on her own terms — the same way she lived.
She didn’t die alone in a nursing home. Thank God.
My mom set up delivery of a hospital bed, an oxygen tank, bedside toilet, pain medicines and other items. My Aunt Mary and I stayed there to help, taking short trips back to our homes as needed, but Mom did most of the work.
In the weeks before her death, I had a spiritual awakening. Imagine, my Aunt Debbie — whom I often resented — teaching me life lessons. It began with patience. Taking care of her was all-encompassing. At times, she had all three of us up, attending to her needs. She also had a couple of providers who would help bathe her every few days and a nurse who would check on her.
Mom made Debbie her favorite meals, even if she could only take a single bite. We sang an early “happy birthday” over brownies.
Debbie lasted five weeks — much longer than doctors expected. We often asked her if she was sure. She had been evaluated by a professional to ensure she understood her decision and was mentally capable to make it. Still, each of us asked repeatedly: Is this the way you want to go?
“I want to be up there,” she would say, pointing to heaven. That’s faith.
Kidney failure isn’t an easy way to go. She was brave, but before her organs shut down, toxins built up and fluid filled her lungs, putting her in a coma. Before that point, she soaked up the attention from visits, calls and gifts, basking in the affection. It’s what she’d always wanted: to feel beautiful and unconditionally loved.
She died surrounded by love.