In Memoriam
Thomas Leo “Walks Easy” Hubbard
15 June 1938 — 30 May 2023
Aho!

I came home Thursday after having the great honor to be with my EBOC (elder brother of choice) the last weeks and months of his life. We had a lot in common, we are both part Native American, though neither of us is registered with our Tribe. We both have Native names, Thomas Walks Easy and Lenora Rain Dancing Feet—we both took our names, they hold great meaning for both of us, but no Tribe bestowed them. We are both writers, he was a musician and I’m a listener. We are both artistic—he sketched people, made cartoons, was a silver-smith—I love silver jewelry, I quilt, I sometimes paint, I take way too many photos. He was very generous with his help, advice, his being.  

Thomas was diagnosed with ALS about the time we met each other, five or so years ago. It takes a lot of energy to die, and we decided to become siblings of choice rather than enter into a romantic relationship. That’s not to say we didn’t love each other, but it was a sibling sort of love. And it was an honor to be with him, and his partner, Sheryl.

And, of course, because he’s my brother, I agreed to be his Literary Executrix. When I’m through crying, I’ll get to work. He’s got lots of stuff to print, sort, submit, etc.

I’m of the idea that the more we love, the more we hurt. There are a lot of people out there hurting now, who truly loved that man. 

If you, or someone you know and love is facing the end of life, I heartily recommend your local Hospice. They were so good not just to Thomas, but to his caregivers, too. He was able to stay in his home until the end, and did not have to go into a new and different space, with new and strange people.

He spent the last several months wearing either nightshirts or tee’s with the back sliced up to the neckband so he was comfortable, but we were able to get him dressed for his last day, and we turned his bed so he could see the back yard without having to turn his head. His caregiver, Mikeshia, got him dressed in his favorite “pineapple” shirt and a pair of slacks.

This is Sheryl, sharing something humorous with Thomas. Probably many of the comments from his last Facebook post that morning. By bedtime Tuesday, I believe Sheryl told me there were over 70 comments in response.

These are “Bonus Sons,”–Sheryl’s two boys, who brought a very good bottle of Rye for us to toast the successful downing of the pre-meds (anti-nausea and tranquilizer). We told stories, shared many laughs, for the intervening hour before the final meds. Sheryl is sitting the chair, and Keshia is standing in the background.

And here he is sporting his pineapple shirt and drinking his toast of rye. He couldn’t lift his hands to hold a drink, so he had to drink everything through a straw–coffee, water, juice, beer, wine, soda, Rye.

I put my phone on the pillow next to his head, and this is the view he had. The bouquet of wildflowers on the right was from one of his great friends, Anna, and the roses from one of his caregivers, Kini. On the table is the bottle of Rye, and a few of his coffeehouse napkin drawings.

Keshia, his primary caregiver. He had three, not counting Sheryl and me–Keshia, Kini, and Abike. They were all super, and so caring and patient (and not just with Thomas, but also with me!) and loving.

These are more of his napkin art. The bottle of Rye on the left, and a quilt I made and gave Thomas shortly after we met. And I just received this from one of his friends:
“Half the sketches Thomas drew in his later years were studies of himself. In moods of mild pleasure, curiosity, anger, bafflement. He wasn’t a moody sort, and didn’t use a mirror, or catch his reflection in the coffee shop window, didn’t need either one. The inner reflection of the felt life got to be plenty by then.” –Paul Hunter

Sheryl took this picture of Thomas, with me in the corner. I held his left hand after he took the final meds, and stroked his arm until the end. They say that people in a coma can hear others speak, so I thought maybe he would feel the human warmth of touch as he walked that final path, and know he was not alone for the whole journey.

After he died, we all went out and cut a flower from Sheryl’s Garden to place on him. When the guys from the Funeral home came, they left the blanket, but took the flowers, and instead of putting him in a black body bag for our last goodbye, they covered him in a soft blue and white quilt.

And here I am surrounded by Keshia and Sheryl. They helped me pack up Big Red, and I came home.

Thomas said he wanted to die when he finished the first draft of his memoir. And that’s what he did. As Frank Sinatra sang, he did it his way. He gave away all his belongings, his woulda’s, coulda’s, shoulda’s, art, everything at 2:55 Tuesday afternoon. He gave away all the pains and hurts and frustrations at 2:55 Tuesday afternoon. He gave away his memoir, to me, to finish with Sheryl’s help. 

I am especially thankful that we have Death with Dignity in our state. I know not everyone wants to take advantage of it, and they don’t need to do so, but Thomas was so tired of the constant pain, of being totally dependent on someone else—ear itch? call someone to scratch it. Nose itch? back itch? Want a sip of coffee? Call someone to hold it for you. Eat? Yeah. His legs were useless, his arms were useless, the muscles of his core were gone, so were his back and neck muscles (do you have any idea how much a head weighs when it’s full of skull, brain, words, etc.?) If he needed to type, he had to dictate, and his facial muscles were beginning to go, and the computer didn’t always understand him, and then he’d get frustrated. It’s good the computer didn’t understand what he was saying as he yelled at it. 

MedPage Today has an interesting article—Dying With Dignity: A Look at the Advantages of the Medicare Hospice Benefit—the program is both cost-effective and compassionate. I strongly suggest you read it if you have any questions about Death With Dignity. 

Thank you for your patience with your Old Auntie, while she was gone. It’s good to be home, though there is more than a little pain involved. One of the super nice, wonderful things, is some time ago, my Ol’ Same gifted me with some very nice soap and a travel tin. I used them both on this trip. Thank you, Ol’ Same. You and your gift brought many smiles.

Somehow, one of Thomas’s tee shirts ended up in my suitcase. It’s bright red, short sleeved, and has a pocket. I’m told he loved this shirt and liked to wear it on Tuesdays (the day he died). No one has confessed they put it in my suitcase, but I’ve worn it all day for a couple of days. Like having a Thomas Hug all day long. Maybe his ghost put it there?

Walk Easy, 
my brother.
Sing and dance
live and laugh,
run and play
now that you can,
with our Ancestors.
Walk Easy,
my beloved elder brother.