Sunday, June 18, our humor columnist lost his beloved wife and “antagonist,” Terry. She is well known by our readers as the unwelcome voice of reason in Burton’s columns. He told us recently she was his advisor, his proofer, and a source for many of his ideas. Her keen sense of humor made her relish the role of “bad guy,” and she examined life to find ways to make that happen for him.
BURTON W. COLE, COLUMNIST
By: Burton Cole
“Let us know if there’s anything we can do.”
It’s a beautiful, caring offer I heard umpteen times a day after my sweet Terry passed away two Sunday mornings ago.
I have no clue. I always asked Terry the hard questions.
The day she died, Terry was scheduled to leave for a weeklong church camp, so she packed the freezer with meals she’d prepared and all but drew me a map to where I’d find everything.
She knew that out from under her supervision, I’d be tempted to sneak off to Taco Bell or McDonald’s, and not to order off the good-for-you side of the menu, either. She did so try to encourage healthy eating. “I want to keep you around for a good long time,” she said.
But she’s the one who’s gone.
What am I supposed to do now?
Do I go on like normal — whatever normal is — without Terry to give me my opinion? How am I supposed to remember where we keep the cooking oil now after the last time she rearranged the cupboards? What do I do with those baskets and boxes of “treasures” she collected at yard sales?
How do I tell the cat?
How am I supposed to function without Terry’s encouragement, strength, faith, passion and unwavering love?
“Teresa Ann” and I met in 2007. Her name actually was Teresa Marie. I tried to guess her middle name on one of our first dates. I was wrong — or prophetic. She became Teresa Ann, which isn’t too offensive as pet names go. My dad called Mom “Tub.” Terry glared at me with danger in her eyes: “You better not.”
I never did.
I wrote a column a lifetime ago about my misadventures in running, even if no one chased me. Shortly after, I received an email from some guy named Terry — I knew it was a guy because he spelled Terry with a “Y” — who said he wanted to start running and asked me a bunch of questions about how to start.
Later, I checked in with my new friend about his progress. He replied that he would start right after he finished planning his niece’s baby or wedding shower. I forget which. I pondered that and wrote back:
“Either you’re a better man than I am, or you’re not a boy Terry.”
“He” wasn’t. When we met in person a few weeks later, I definitely knew this was not a boy Terry. Oh, boy!
Her version is that she simply answered the personal ad that I’d run in the paper. “It said write Cole at… What else could it be?”
We married a year later, barely into our 40s — we were 49. It was a short, swift engagement. We told people that we were in a hurry because at our age, we didn’t have that many good years left.
We didn’t know.
The end happened so quickly. Terry and I had spent a lovely, lazy Saturday morning together talking about this, that and th’other. Then we took our usual Saturday afternoon dash through the Amish salvage stores. We scooped up a pile of snacks for her to share with the three little kids and the youngsters’ mother on the road trip to camp. She giggled in anticipation.
The heart attack struck Saturday evening. The road trip became a race to the ER.
Her last words to me were, “Thank you. I love you,” as an army of medical professionals hurriedly wheeled her to the heart catheterization lab.
Terry was in recovery sedated when I kissed her forehead and squeezed her hand goodbye at 1 a.m.
The stroke happened in the wee hours of Sunday. At 5 a.m., the voice on the phone jarred me awake with words like “massive brain bleed” and “This is not survivable.” I couldn’t process it.
Just before 8 a.m. Sunday, Father’s Day, Terry slipped away.
The previous two weeks, we’d ramped up telling each other how important the other one was, the wonderful qualities the other person had that taught us to be better than we were and the lessons we’d learned in faith, Bible and praying together. There were an abundance of “I love yous” and “I appreciate yous.” She praised the Loving Father for putting us together. We wondered what we would do for our 15th wedding anniversary in October.
Terry and I had spent the last two weeks telling each other goodbye. We just didn’t know that’s what we were doing.
What am I supposed to do now, Terry?
I don’t know. I don’t know.