Pat and Me

Pat and me, May 2001

Pat

Ms. Pat to my children

Mrs. Spencer to me when I was a child

I was young enough that I don't remember meeting the Spencer's. I was 6, almost 7, when we moved to Maryland and joined the Chapel of the Holy Spirit. Somewhere around when my youngest sister was born (when I was 9) I became more aware of them and my middle sister played a lot with their oldest granddaughter.

The first big role they played in my life was when I was 17. Their house was the place my mom chose to tell us that she and my dad were separating. Even more important (as if that weren't enough), John and Pat were the only family friends who did not choose sides in the divorce. It really hurt that so many did, but John and Pat did not and they made sure we kids knew we were loved.

Pat is actually the one I had the most conversations with about my parents' divorce, and about their marriage. I asked her the hard questions and the questions I didn't dare ask anyone else. Pat was a good observer, and patiently explained to me many of her observations from over the years.

As a young adult, I started visiting Pat and John any time I had a free week, beginning with spring break of freshman year of college. I went many times over the years, finding Pat and John's house a place I could sleep, read, fully relax, enjoy the sunshine, reflect, and just be. Pat didn't expect anything of me. And I just followed their schedule. It is still a place of sanctuary and peace.

My longest visit was when I was newly diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis. I lived with Pat and John for about six weeks in 2006 and learned from Pat how to live life with a chronic disease. Pat did it for practically her whole life, and freely and willingly taught me, mostly by example. Living daily with a chronic disease means everything changes. And you don't have control over the changes. Some days are good, some are bad, some you can predict, some you can't. Chronic disease affects everything in your life. Pat knew about that. And I learned all about it from her.

Finally, Pat could say things to me that no one else could, or would. She said things I needed to hear and said them out loud. I'm sure others thought I already knew them or something, but she'd pick out the ones I needed to hear and be told. Heather, you're like this. Heather, this is you. Or, "It's like this." She was good.

It's hard to know how to categorize her. Friend? Aunt? Godmother? Confidante? Mentor? I hadn't had a good conversation with her since my last trip, a week in February 2014, with my 17 month old daughter and newly pregnant with my son. Between her declining health and my preoccupation with two babies, I didn't see her again until a hospital visit in late December 2017. She was in the ICU, barely responsive, but she knew my mom and I were there and she joined in when we prayed for her and John. She KNEW we were praying. That was her faith. That's why, if I'm ever asked like Elisha, whose spirit I want a double portion of, my answer is my grandmas and Pat.